Reaching from the rooftops
into the sky. All trying to get
higher than one another.
In their eyes.
Starved by the populus.
Milling around about them.
Not looking up, nearly as
often as they should. Through
their alleys, into their squares.
‘Cept at Mass or when tourists
come. Then there is a fuller
purpose.
In their eyes.
Struggling, reaching, wretching.
