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.