I will lay on the short grass
Nobody will see me
Vanilla-cream-pink against a thousand shades of green.
Insects encounter the mountain,
Such little things but with a power
To shrink large woes with their meanderings.

I will let the grass grow around me.
Tendrils writhe beneath my back
To search and plead for sun.
But turn white, bleached of chlorophyll.
Immovable and arbitrary, I am the barrier.
We share a common bond as his victim.

Others numerous soon rest their heads upon the soil,
Their hair grows down into the ground,
Weaving loops around roots and between stones,
And into cracks in the bedrock
******* at the moisture there
Until the trees, the grass and I
Turn brown, brittle and dry.