From where does the bay come
\nto keep company with my thoughts?
\nTo the east there is a half-moon shore
\nof yellow sand,
\nsaw grass and sheltered marsh,
\nwhich now, in November, has a calico color,
\na weave of dry grass and cold water,
\nclear as a lens.<\/p>\n
It is a piece of the old bay,
\nstill un-trampled, but not safe
\nfrom the builders and children of children
\nwho want their place by the bay.
\nHere the dark rocks are polished by time.
\nGreen hair covers their faces.
\nGreen stones are scattered loosely
\namong the black stones,
\nand I leave them as they are.<\/p>\n
When I was small I threw the stones
\nfar and further than the horizon.
\nNow I want them undisturbed,
\nperhaps as my father saw them,
\nand my father\u2019s father.
\nIt is a dream,
\na trick of the heart,
\na slow moving tide
\ninto the vast plateau of the past.
\nLet them be.
\nLet the stones lay glistening in the water.<\/p>\n
To the west is a resort closed for the season,
\ngiven over to the gulls and Canadian Geese,
\nand foxes and rabbits,
\nmaking their place by the bay.
\nSnow has not yet fallen.
\nThe clouds move white and gray
\nlike great caravans over the water.
\nHow I love my bay!
\nHow I feel
\nin the cold, stinging chill of the water,
\na sacrament.<\/p>\n
Sandusky Bay is a holy place.
\nIt can never be harmed.
\nPerhaps the dozers will come.
\nA city extended into the waves,
\nthe shore of crescent dreams
\nbe covered with tar,
\nthe marsh drained,
\nthe rabbits and foxes chased into the woods.<\/p>\n
Perhaps,
\nin the clearness of fate,
\nnothing is eternal,
\nbut it will have served its purpose.
\nIt is where I live,
\nwhere a small boy became himself.
\nAnd I will take it with me unharmed
\nthrough the ages of my life.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
From where does the bay come to keep company with my thoughts? To the east there is a half-moon shore of yellow sand, saw grass…<\/p>\n