This is the second and last poem that I conceived while I was in Italy. One for each boy that messed me up while I was over there.

We didn't stop to admire the dampness layered between the bricks of the buildings,
Or the way the streetlights shone just a little too brightly,
Making everything sparkle for the ignorant observer.
The sky was crying for me when I couldn't.
Had it been another hour, another week, another year,
It would have smiled.

You said that we were placed here, surrounded by all the right faces,
And insisted that each and every one had served its purpose.
In the moment, I laughed at the confidence,
But I had not taken into account the tone of the words as they flowed from your mouth,
Nor the position of your hands as they illustrated them.
If you can make the rain fall,
Then I can make the winds change
If the details in my universe allow it.