We play on each other’s stages
to music we can’t hear,
sound out an echo
into a strange new background.
We meet each other in the familiar
and miss one another in the weather,
speak in diverse tongues
of pictures we’ll never complete.
We sound alike on the street,
on the top floor of the bus.
At the hairdresser we are all blown dry
and we all shed skin.
That’s where the story ends,
the adventure begins. The day starts
with the mass rising from sleep.
The joints connecting again.