October Death
1
Rain for weeks
bruised October.
The burden of bitter
air spewed from the
drain of my swollen yard.
Already the birds had turned
to pirates.
I saw the night let
a blind rag wing dive
from a tree into the rapids
of a sidewalk,
rolling, crumbling like a
mad leaf.
2
The afternoon had cleared
and isolated my yard in
cold light.
Wet death had made no
ceremony for the rigid
squirrel.
Murky death had stolen
its eyes.
Hard death had robbed
the squirrel. I rolled
the item in newspaper.
Thoughtless death into
the trash bag
with Styrofoam and Reynolds Wrap.
3
Living wavered
on a matchstick.
On an evening some
flickering things were
extinguished.
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