A small hole in the fabric of life,

Collagen disrupted then smoothing over, platelets aggregate and repair

Like dreams, only a small needle could be the thing to release the air, escaping in a whistle like a popped balloon,

Beautiful and silly as it flys through the air in a lazy loop

Or it could be the thing to save the dream,

Protect from the danger of infection, provide immunity and continue the line on down the double helix,

He has his fathers eyes, 

because he had Henrietta Lacks to give him resistance.

A small hole, a tiny puncture. A few small shots and you continue on your way,

Never knowing what it is you have avoided, what it took to get here

a rite of passage complete, 

forgotten,

And life goes on