Hard can shelter soft--
clams, snails, a beetle's carapace,
horse's hoof. Not all that's hard is bad.
Matter is solid, something of import.

Touching it as I pass the soft afghan
draped over the back of a chair, partner
to two pillows, a plump footrest--
life upholstered, carpeted, soft music, 
food that melts on my tongue
which too pliable.

My surroundings don't demand
sleeping on pavement, cement wall
as a backrest, pressure inciting pain.
Pain, we say is hard to bear.
Liquid glass from the glory hole
hardens and breaks before it yields.