Rhymes for a Watertower

--Christian Wiman

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.