Walking a path of uneven bluestone,
wind bellows a spray of pink dogwoods.
Storm clouds plow under
the sunlit sky. I trample petals.
Screen door squawks. I set her dinner
on the kitchen counter. The living room,
a sea of linens on their sides. I sit at the edge
of a rented bed, her tired eyes, bag of urine.
The birds are loud today. she stares,
mouth slackens. I leave her, clouds
pounding, trudge back on cracked pavement,
slick with earthworms straining to the surface.