wind acts like water flows through trees pushes leaves spirals in eddies spills down mountains cuts channels around buildings, and sometimes rages like a river sweeping everything away   a muscular one last year hurled plastic chairs and bags, flung papers, threw sand, palm fronds, scattered cups, hats, branches   as if an invisible river had flooded the valley, debris everywhere, exactly what a feisty rainstorm would leave in its wake   except for a brilliant desert sun   an

I’ll walk Gracie till she can no longer walk, be more vigilant when she stumbles near the edge of the pool   I’ll watch her sleep as soundly as a pillow on a sofa, moved a couple times of day but otherwise resting and fixed in place   what is there to do with an old dog when there are cracks on the thin ice of time?   she moves along perfectly unconcerned   while I alternate holding breathes

for twenty years, I stop to chat nearly every day as he sweeps his sidewalk   laughter alternates with juicy bits of street news, the weather, his disappointing sunflowers   a feral cat he feeds slinks across his driveway as he stoops to pet my dogs   I like him, so why haven’t I invited him and his husband over for dinner or drinks?   sometimes, the next step in a friendship is when the foot hovers, midair   and without logic, and looking rather stupid, never drops to the gr