Bells more prudent than ladders

Winter Sun

It may have been caught up in some forgotten
branches, left untended as so many parts of my
body, nothing touching to touch it out from where
it hung like a stubborn leaf or a treed kitten too
far climbed for its own good. Firemen may be
summoned, but it will not help. Bells may prove
more prudent than ladders for what is far kept
will only be rung down by the pull of a monkless
moon. This happens every year whether winter
arrives or not, snowless, deadstilled under drifts
that make bleak ziggurats in the night.



These are the hours that seek sun in no allied
corner of the world. We need stories read by
willing lovers on days like these. I will read a
cold tale to the sun that might coax her down,
siren her to crash among the rocks of my bones
where keels of lost cauldrons kick against the
swells of this unseasoned hunger. For all the
good it might do, I will send vapor to hide her
deeper in the dead trees until she says enough.

Joseph Gallo
January 9, 2009