The apple was not an apple when the rains came
The grave spurned the groundskeeper’s shovel when the rains came
No sacrament no scripture There were no reservoirs
save an ark beneath the steeple when the rains came
First the river wouldn’t fill Then the valley’s hills
rose like the back of a camel when the rains came
The piano pursed its mouth of strings The tenor kissed
his weathered hymnal when the rains came
There was no weathered landscape there were neither
the hanging gardens nor Babel when the rains came
Lying on his back the shepherd fanned his arms and legs
No one told him he couldn’t impress an angel when the rains came
our glosses / wanting in this world Can you remember?
My name in Hebrew means Beloved or blissful when the rains came
Copyright © 2017 by David Welch. “Reservoirs” originally appeared in The Cincinnati Review. Used with permission of the author.
David Welch is the author of Everyone Who Is Dead (Spork Press, 2018) and It Is Such a Good Thing to Be in Love with You (GreenTower Press, 2015). He lives in Chicago.
Date Published: 2018-08-24
Source URL: https://poets.org/poem/reservoirs