My blood has bounce
My bones can bend
My flesh can rip,
then stitch and mend.
A sine jumps up
then down and back,
a cycle weaves,
my spine can crack.
For all of life
is tears and patches,
of growth in rupture,
of light in matches.
Of ashes, mud, and moss, and mold
Of spores and buds, and new from old
The flexible, will learn to thrive
The rigid prick, will burn his hive
For all of life, is death of same,
and bouncy blood, will ease the game.
