If you stretch your neck,
Looking up and up and up,
You can just see the shell of sky
That cracks and dribbles
Against wall and window.

Gray skies, pale and vulnerable
Against the sun,
Tremble, a child’s wobbling jaw
Before the watery flood.

We stand down here,
Locked among walls,
Faces pressed against
Cool, industrial glass.
The doors have long since locked.
Our voices explode and bounce
But cannot reach up and beyond
The roofs.

Moths flutter down,
And sometimes a dragonfly.
But we are too heavy,
And they flee before we can ask.