Some of us sang the same;
some differed or were silent,
whatever what was pressing on us wanted.
The pressure came and went,
stretched and relaxed us; slack
became strain, pressure chasing after silence.
Once one of us was stuck
singing the same three clustered little clicks.
Melodies spread from us to suit the stuck one.
Some among us wondered what
profited from our inner play of stress,
what intelligence dreamed or managed it;
others, uncertain that there were observers,
reason, or cause, were content
simply to say we sang and someone listened.