The eyes of the fox are shells,
Her home is sand, this luminous beach.
She is washed by saltwater, bleached by sun,
Wrapped in the calcium ribbon of shellfish.
Her body is a skeletal map, a lens, a geographic mark.
Did she leave the security of oaks,
Descend the dune of scrub and marl,
Or rise, carried by the waves of the Sound?
Myriad things come forth
To make the map of eyes and bone,
To mark the art of shell and stone.
Water, wind, stone, luminous sand, wind, water . . .