Pratt imagines that every person's soul has a physical shape, and she sorts through them like someone browsing a shelf. One is a crumpled piece of paper, thrown away and then rescued and smoothed flat, which suggests a person who has second-guessed themselves and mended what they nearly lost. Another is a glittering superball, too quick and slippery to catch. A third is a wing bone, lean and efficient, with nothing wasted.
The comparisons then grow quieter. An empty flower pot stained with moss feels neglected, while a tidy formal garden suggests control and a refusal to let anything stray. The last image is the warmest: a sofa soul, soft and slow, holding secrets like lint and loose change between its cushions.
The speaker seems curious and fond rather than judgmental. Each soul gets the same close, affectionate attention, so the mood is gentle, playful and observant. The ordinary objects make something abstract feel familiar, and the poem ends on comfort and welcome.