MT. PISGAH

James Kimbrell

 

 

It was the middle of the night and I had lived

A long time with that country, with the hay

Rakes and rock paths and the beam bridge

Above the snake-thick waters. It was

The middle of the night so far into the field

The deer began not to notice the moons

In the shallow bean row puddles. That's how dark

Fell over the road that led into town and kept us

All from moving. Still, when the train passed,

Milk shook in its bucket and the earth sank

In a little. So each year when the corn shrank

Back to stubble, the mud strewn with husks,

More than anything silence grew tall there

Between the kitchen window and the shed's

Roof and the one note rust made in the stuck

Weather vane, in the rooster holding north.