This night is full of gunshots in this city.  

The sound lasts only a few seconds, the time it takes my hand upon your chest to feel you inhale and exhale. 

Sirens nearby.  

They disappear inside the flashes of blue and red upon our bedroom wall. 

We sleep between them. 

I notice the wrinkles in my knuckles and the slow rise and fall of what it is to be a part of us. 

In the morning, we watch the news cover the night. We attempt to restore our breathing to the day.  

There is an endless list of things to run from. There is an endless list of things to run towards.