decay
dank, tepid, fetid air, full of decay…
A beautiful squirrel was killed by a car on our street this morning. I stroke his fur, cradle his still supple body, all lost in an instant. Now his bleeding mouth, his bulging eyes turn into the rotting corpse I bury in an unmarked grave in the garden.
The flowers, the ferns won’t tell, but I remember where he lies.
