I emerge from deep woods
bend to touch ground
scuffed by hooves I follow
to the lake that carries
pale feathers and thin shadows  

Water, a blue-green throat
grave to some, portal to many
unskeins needle of pain
like listening to wings pulse air
mantric music and the sweet loom
of silence I ignore the palpable
impulse to break  

On the other side a figure in gray
emerges like danger in a painting
a yellow voice tests the air
his call falls to me like a wishbone.                      

~ Found poem composed/modified from words in the poem “The Voice is the Last We Forger to Remember” by Lee Sharkey