The Point (Stonington, Connecticut)
by Robert Hayden
Land’s end. And sound and river come
together, flowing to the sea.
Wild swans, the first I’ve ever seen,
cross the Point in translucent flight.
On lowtide rocks terns gather;
sunbathers gather on the lambent shore.
All for a moment seems inscribed
on brightness, as on sunlit
bronze and stone, here at land’s end,
praise for dead patriots of Stonington;
we are for an instant held in shining
like memories in the mind of God.