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.

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)
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