Rhymes for a Watertower

A town so flat a grave's a hill,
          A dusk the color of beer.
A row of schooldesks shadows fill,
          A row of houses near.

A courthouse spreading to its lawn,
          A bank clock's lingering heat.
A gleam of storefronts not quite gone,
          A courthouse in the street.

A different element, almost,
          A dry creek brimming black.
A light to lure the darkness close,
          A light to keep it back.

A time so still a heart's a sound,
          A moon the color of skin.
A pumpjack bowing to the ground,
          Again, again, again.

Copyright © 2005 Christian Wiman All rights reserved
from Hard Night
Copper Canyon Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission