At the bridge
of my nose is a balance.

I could put fruit on it,
apples on one sides,

oranges on the other.
One falls,

sends an impulse
over the trigeminal

nerve to cascade into
the brain, and soon

the balance has dug
into my nose and

pain is a threshold
crossed, a dam of

nausea breached;
saliva thickening,

sickening; light, an
assault; the mere

sound of footsteps
a hammer to the head.

I know the barometric
pressure’s lowering,

taking my head with it.
I wish it were steady always,

that the flow of my blood,
likewise, remained the same

and a stream of wellbeing
enveloped the cells

that have over-fired,
that have mis-taken

the signs of a simple
change of weather.