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 fight 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.
Christian Wiman, "Rhymes for a Watertower" from Hard Night. Copyright © 2005 by Christian Wiman. Reprinted by permission of Copper Canyon Press.
Source: Hard Night
(Copper Canyon Press, 2005)