Remind me about the time
when we were so heavy with life, we drowned ourselves with our words,
like we were our own anchors.
If I remember correctly,
the words were laced with spoken dreams.

The night was honest:
fire stations shrieking and their children,
the police sirens spitting angry sounds back.
Fog was simply dust and haze,
and stars were dull because the city lights had somehow managed
to outshine them.

It was that and this and us and our words that said
we would never follow our dreams, but rather,
we’d lead them, and

it was everything.