Sometimes words trip over themselves
in a great rush
to make a point, or illustrate a feeling.
Longing to exist beyond the wisp of a thought
tucked in some crowded crevice,
recycled through a span of days.
Sometimes words are obstinate,
heavy solid things,
resisting all efforts to pry them from
their hidden coves.
There they sit unmoving
and as permanent as
the curved lines in a sculpted stone.
One day they will be forced to share themselves,
or, like the stubborn sculpture,
risk inevitable erosion and be lost to eternity.