the voice began at dawn
like the first breeze 
rustling the cat tails, and
in a wispy lilt, she said

"the austerity of your spirit
is so easily dissolved by
the piercing distractions
of your modernity," then

a still silence fell
and the bullrush bobbed
as her echo faded
and the warm tones of daybreak
gave way to slate blue
and the rushing engines
of a distant interstate rose,

calling from an unavoidable horizon.