I am doing too many things at once,
keeping a small weather system
above my head.

A song in one hand,
a deadline in another,
three unanswered letters
balanced on my nose,
a tour rolling toward me
like a piano with no brakes.

Some days
I am amazed by the juggling.

Other days
I look up
and realize

every ball is still in the air

and suddenly understand
that this is not necessarily
good news.

I keep throwing things upward
because catching them
would require deciding
where to put them.

So there they remain,
appointments, songs, promises,
money, people I love,
things I forgot to worry about,

circling above me
like extremely patient planets.

One day
gravity will remember my address.

Until then,

I keep my hands open.