POETRY

his watch

I stand in the high tower
back turned on the world
looking down the chimney stack
hour after hour churning smoke
envelopes me, a cloak of ashen gray
nothing known can move me, budge me
or my will as long as love is
burning in the tower on the hill

a river flows beneath, a city glows in back
my seared hands grip the rail
I’m rooted on my stack
let the green world wither
damn the clean blue night
have beasts and beings perish
in agony and fright
feel my furnace growl
see the red coals glower
I dare you to release me from
my sacred watchtower.

m. landers 03/06