I Never Learned to Juggle

I never learned to juggle.

I haven’t done it.

Not once!

And still I juggle pebbles everyday,

And great boulders four times a month.

I’m not supposed to juggle,

But some actions must match words.

Most things I’m given to toss around can’t be seen, nor touched, nor heard.

I toss them up and throw them round,

Yet still they touch my skin.

All I ask of the pebbles in my hands are to not turn to sand and sink in,

I don’t need the grainy nothing juggling around inside my veins.

For now I juggle pebbles,

Through sun, and snow, and rain.