This is the first good day of the year

This is the first good day of the year. The sun shines loud through the siren landscape and no one speaks to me but you. It's cold, cold this time around Everything I need is so far away I lost it all: the syntax, the beat the car wheels spinning on our pothole roads Oh backstreet melancholy, I've ever missed anything more than the sun on the trees and my old rotting heart But city Septembers--they find a way to break you. The words drift to the ground from this fifth floor window and I'm ashamed to admit that I want to go home I want to go home but home left and we went our separate ways So this city September won't break me. I will not repent for the dreams or the smoke. I will not sit by this window forever, waiting for something to start.