On Surviving

Little rattles within.
Shock and jolt me,
Short shifts settle loose bits,
packing cracks, vanishing interstices.

Swirling elements buffet,
twist me dizzy,
roll, tumble, dispatch me,
but I am a tight weave.
Bone and heart, tongue in groove,
solid mesh repels.

Stress cures the hide,
sinew strings taut to a hum.
Strummed on the wind,
I sound a high pitch.

Lissome, stealth-stubborn,
I am a tincture of me,
I am hard to move.
My mind is not unknown to me.