For we are small.
We must blend into the rushes,
bend with wind.
Our eyes dull, monochromatic,
must not reflect.
If punched in the belly
we’ll not respond.
If whacked on the kneecap
we’ll not reflex.

We must deflect.
In sun we must not squint,
nor shall we look directly.
Under the moon
we must not resist the pull.
If the tide is out we are adrift.
If the tide is in we are awash.
If a part of the sea, we must be krill
to the whale, chum to the shark.

When expelled, we float or sink.
If we breathe, we drown.
If beached, we dry in the sere.
The salt will pinch and parch.

If consumed on land we must pass
over the muzzle, through the gullet.
We must not flinch.

If found, we must lie still.
If we are burned, we rise
in the ether and disperse.

We must be unseen
as the wind is unseen.
In the rushes we are without need,
for we are small,
and without words.