When then a breeze that held aloft alone at days and nights, a wisp.

But then a trough, it came and dumped a rain of weight and colder air.

And though we said we had enough of times in weighty ways,

Another weight of solitary plural leaves to juggle came and left its piece.

Now I juggle all these things, but I am safe from dropping all into a cold abyss.

But then the reeling of the fisherman, his line, it breaks and leaves behind its catch for me to juggle, too.

I feel the night and day, it holds a piece of all, and then I juggle pieces here and there.

It takes my hope and stress to keep aloft the bits of items passed in time’s remorse.

Flighty fights I fall in days of loss.

I fear tomorrow’s gains. I’ve had enough. 

I want to get off now.