The apartment sits in the middle of a quiet city street.
There’s a wide sidewalk, a wrought-iron gate,
arborvitae, and lush purple succulents.

At the end of the street, behind the park,
the woods cover the hills;
and if you turn north you’ll see

the protected dunes of Crissy Beach.
It used to be marsh and wetlands
that no longer exist. 

Tomorrow early, we will walk down
and visit the seagulls,
but today we’re staying home,

sitting at the window, then the desk,
or putting on a sweater
to go for a short walk

or kneeling on the sofa
watching the people full of purpose
under the darkening sky.

This is the first blustery day
since we lost her mother,
and even though she was comfortable,

we are amazed at how the wind
howls through the leaky windows
cold and damp,

blowing,
as it always does
in through the Golden Gate.