We were together, physically- my fingers leaving grimy trails in the lines of your body. You may have been that mountain we were laying on, with your strength and your valleys and our grounded unity. But there was a sickness, the earth thriving and the people dying. You shielded me from that force which claimed them all. In your frustration and anxiety you left to find a cure. I can feel your restless soul while you are gone. But the force has stopped. Only a few of us remain, and in four hundred years we have seen the earth overgrown- the return of prehistoric size. But we cannot rest, we cannot die. You are still gone, and I roam the life swamps in search of you. I finally find you. Your hands guide my feet on the earth and you are found. Rising from the muck. You have been moving, these four hundred years, through the earth, untame. You are peace and I can die again. We all can.