Steady the freight trains
like daily missives
from other-where—

our stop on the map,
the dislocation of winter's
bandwidth.

Steady now the icicles
freezing in their gravity,
last leaves winnowing

off the tree
and steady the people
with their clocksongs

and filled-up lives
while a few of us are dropping
away like chaff from a scythe.

Emptiness.
Pour the water.
Keep the fire lit.

Things are not as they seem.
To ring the bell
you must give your whole self

over to the bell-rope.
You must lift both feet
off the ground.