We know each other’s names. After all, it’s on the lists and calendars that we use our time, on humming tables, music almost,


But there’s no beat


There’s a country with a drum to it, the sky changing colour at each hit. Each beat of ours, it never repeats, each sunset track new


Each track is in motion,


On cement blocks we help each other atop


It’s got bars in the sky, I see it between colours

I can’t find a word


The only sound is our humming


Or maybe it’s just the beat of the drums


We don’t know each other’s names

Photo: Charles Fair on Unsplash.com