Some phrases move
Slow as a worm,
Chewing
A tunnel
Through dirt.
Others, swift as a bird.
Always, it’s the beloved
They’re seeking.
She could be hiding
Above;
He could be
Buried below.
Sorrow-songs, trying
Their best
To digest
The thick dark.
Songs of joy—
Whizzing past
So fast, they’re
Gone before we notice.