Their names

"I dream the dream of many!”
she said a long time ago.

Between 3 and 4
there she is waving;
it's visit time,
eyes at me
staring ashy blues
so perished, so childish.

We sit by the fountain,
secluded
just the two of us,
talking
not much though;
She hums me a song.

I fondle her
bumpy hands,
softly listening to the huge
cork tree
gently swashing,
no news.

She craves on me
the urge
to remember, to say...

I know,
everything is blending
into nothing;
links breaking, messing up
names, people, objects, labels.

(Why do we need them?)

As Sunday bells ring and
I stand up to go,
she sparkles blessed for a
fraction,
whispers to me
their names
          Q...., D...., M......

I smile and say
“they will be here next Sunday!”