the haze has lights & sounds & souls

i’m so grateful that someone revved their engine

at the exact moment i was filming the bridge—

at first i had planned to omit all sound.

it’s the echoes of gasoline coursing through the city’s streets

that embody another sense of what i mean,

when i relay that i’ve recently come to a conclusion about the haze,

and how it’s like a dream.

the haze, the mist, the days with thick air

embody what we call brain fog, when we aren’t at all clear.

during those days (and sometimes weeks), everything is blurry;

the lights and the sounds spin together in a slurry.

in the foggy darkness things just don’t make sense. like at all.

there’s a person alone in their room up above, who switches on their LEDs to feel a little love.

little do they know that amidst the clouds, their tiny window lights up the whole town.

it’s when the air is thick and the breeze travels slowly, that a man falls asleep feeling a little lonely.

wind paths are chaotic, sporadic, disorienting…

was it actually his snore when we heard an engine roaring?