A Sunday Poem

I saw the chipmunk's coat
Had slid off the meat
On the gray pavement,
As I coasted to a stop.

The napped fur matched
A liver-spot on my hand,
Which I rubbed, noting
How my skin slid

Over the fine bones.
This place will be marked
By a leathery array
For a week or more

Then a light stain.
If gods populate
The vacuum around us,
May they note the loss

As they pass over
At great speed,
Propelled onward
By muffled explosions.