The black cat’s howl, the shadow of the yard
and the flash of red and blue.
The sound of running feet as the shadows gain
and retreat from the ground with the flash of the sirens.

The cold skin, the life draining away,
through the window, down the drain.
The quiet feet of the retreating man
that nobody sees and nobody hears.
But is there all the same.

Who, quick as a flash, slips out of the window and, quick as a flash,
slips out of the yard.
The spindly skeleton leaves in the dark of the shadow,
in the quiet of the night
Pierced by the black cat’s howl.