Let there be pasture for the stones
and shepherds for the storms.
Let the wind be kicked against
the pricks of extravagance.
(Let there be extravagance.)
Let there be the slow rise
of slaked forms, swimming
in the lamplit rain below
the lovers, now waking,
now giving thanks
for this tilt, this shudder.
Christopher Warner works as a brakeman for Union Pacific Railroad and lives in central Illinois with his wife, three small boys, and a Vizsla named Josie Rooster. His poems appear (or will soon) in Copper Nickel, Salamander, Spoon River Poetry Review, RHINO Poetry, The Normal School, Drunken Boat and elsewhere.