The sun has eaten her. She went alone,
barefoot like the sun, and dressed like it,
in a white blouse and green slacks: she was blonde. Like
the air, bright as the lion of utter fury.
They’ve eaten her up on us. Let’s be a pack
of dogs. Let’s snap the wind with wirecutters
made of protracted shrieks. Let’s claw the sand,
and snarl at the false colors of the sea.