what isn't it?

it found me on the beach eye to hand
from the oregon atlantis sand
this talisman
this stone sculpture basalt puzzle
burnished blackish iron-rock heavy
the size of an egg
shape the interior of a palm with our wrinkles its map
what is it
what is it
twenty years and i see it the first time
definitive, from all interior angles,
the palm's mirror
pre-conscious conch,
a fertility tool for the fishing nomad
suggestive in every form, one arm
thin the other bulbed,
evocative as a lure for ocean beings must
compel, under hazel grey deep relief
cut by sand sweeping water
giving the magma mother 
childbearing hips, the claw of crab,
the gash
the nostrils
the belly button
the fire hair
the rump of polished star brass,
what isn't it?