My first is a tool with all teeth and no face. It chews into wood like a beaver, but it is not alive. My second is a place where the turn of a wheel turns gold into food. Put both halves together and you get a place where a woodchuck could chuck

I exist only as between, A difference felt, a space unseen. I borrow motion, give it back, Then leave no proof I crossed your path.

I speak without a mouth, I reply when you shout, I chase every sound as it wanders about. In caves I grow loud, in rooms I stay low. I mimic your words but I’m not who you know. Clap once, I answer twice; chase me fast or slow.

No need to fight to hear it, though it’s like a rumble of the broncs. It’s a sound felt here: in spirit, like a grumble from guts’ atop. It pairs with strikes, some fear it, slowly fading to a stop. Count down to this sound, natures rage is found, anger the gods, hear their stomp.

Grandmothers fear me, shepherds curse my cry, In countless tales my shadow passes by. I speak without words to the silver-lit sky, my voice riding the hills as echoes reply.