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
