The Work

The plaque says 1909, I read as I lean
upon this venerable stone wall, and can see
someone laid these stones, fit each one,
spinning it round and round, pieced them
to fill a unique space, knew, day after day,
where he would show up for work,
what he would do, for many months, I guess,
from the length of it.

I look into the dark water, not moving
now here at all, wonder if it ever does,
at any time of year, perhaps when the rain
comes down long, hard, but not tonight,
it appears this wall is hardly even needed,
the river so low, the stale water languid,
lined with scum and floating rubbish,
still under a large yellow moon stuck overhead,
and in the water mirrored, as though the world
were above me, the sky below.

And I know a murder has been committed here,
but don’t know who the killer is, or where I will find him,
reflecting on the placidness of it all in the end,
after the struggle and the blood, flowing so fast, so dark
as my mood will allow my imagination to run on
back in time.

* * * * *

Today’s word is


Use it to inspire a piece of writing, and then post that piece as a comment below. I would love to read it : )

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