The Bay

All of you is but one color in the mornlit fog,
Pewter gray clouds in the painter’s cup; 

Or of the idle man’s mind fixed to the sky
As a seabird, gliding against the wind

Who brought you here. There was a bay
Tan-blue when I came, lined in pepper

And green. But now there is only fog of
A morning that has lasted all afternoon—

And you have taken the whole of me.