So throughout the day,

we heap little collections

of our being and doing

onto the scale’s ends,

my middle sister reminds me.

We disperse intuitive conglomerations on one end

and some more controlled, learned, chosen ones

over on the other side,

if we don’t forget to walk on over.

And sometimes, someone adds some of their own,

like thoughts and words and deeds,

which can totally tip the scale.


And sometimes luck appears

(or at least some call it that)

or is being shipped onto our ends

(depending on what you think)

and evens it all out again

just like that, just so perfectly well

and sets us ever so free.

And then, do what, I ask her so,

and she’s yet to answer that.

Because she may not have to think about

what to do with fallen stars,

but not all of us work like that

and can need a little help.