It was the reason we left the streets behind. They werent my friend. Streets took your peace of mind and a few of your teeth too. We couldn't keep pace with it. It whirled past us and took everything from under us right before we would reach for it. And in that way, it kept us glued to it. It wanted us to breathe it in. It spun a web of itself in our lungs and tried to make sure we would never cough it up. We shared everything with it. We shared our tears, our blood, our secrets, our beds, our livelihoods. It took. And then it took. We gave. And then it took. 

       And then one day, inside of a fog of its web and the steam of a summer rain, it gave. And we weren't  ready, but it gave. We felt ashamed when it gave back. Like we had stolen from a god that would return to grade a test. But when it gave back, we took it and so were released from the grip of the streets.

     We planted gardens. We sang songs. We drank wine on beaches and took Him everywhere. We never talked about that summer day when we heard His cry from a dumpster behind the mill. And I peeked over the side, afraid of what I'd find. And He saw me, and His crying ceased. And He reached for me, and I reached for Him. And from that moment forward we were released. And it gave everything back, and we tried to do the same.