I am sure the red fox wonders,
as does the otter and friends,

what happened to the horizon,

why the light that’s not a star shines
from sun down to sun up
with no seeming purpose,

why the fresh salt air is slow to come

The gulls know, of course

They see from the sky
the new and larger rooftops,
the wide expanses of useless green,
the decks and porches and drives,
the construction constructed from the edge of their pond to the edge of the harbor

They see even, in the biggest living room
of the biggest house
the big screen TV,
on certain mornings,
lights the horizon just like a sun,
casts shadows on the fox
and the otter
who will never know again
the rush of first light and certain breezes.