Silently shouting in gray, looking up
with cemented eyes, through
time's found end of this bottomless cup.
Paths cross over, and feet never rest in respect
for pain, so plain, etched
with a finger, maybe a stick
that once, the soft mouth of a dog fetched
here. Here, dog, were you ever this tired too?
Monotonous steps, dizzied by the hill.
Every pair of feet holding a head
down, close to dirt, leashed by humanity's will.