Warm Air, Outside In

Walking past the brick wall,

late enough that streetlights hummed

and the city held its breath

like it was listening for dawn.

Then, that hot gust,

a sweet breath of fabric softener,

something clean and folded.

It punched me, soft and hard.

I could see the steam, pale

against the yellow glow,

curling from the metal grate,

like a small, steady ghost.

Someone's towels, someone's socks,

a life contained and warm.

I stood there, just for a second,

cold air in my lungs,

that manufactured comfort

a hand I almost felt.

And then the moment passed,

leaving just the cold.