Stacked and scattered,
tall and tumbling,
mounds of records,
each a thought, a feeling,
or a melody.
Ceaselessly, the needle touches
this, then that,
jumps around at random,
cuts deep into the groove
of a memory, a pain, a plan.
Whether smooth or grating,
can I ever slow the tune
long enough to catch my breath,
hear the silent little spaces
in-between?
– Sigrid Kellenter
