Degrees of Separation

The click of the vent is a sharp, dry crack

that rings through the hallway in the dark.

I’m lying here with a cold, stiff back,

waiting for a single, heavy spark.

I heard her footsteps on the wooden floor,

a quiet ghost who’s tired of the heat.

She’s at the plastic box beside the door,

nudging the lever to make her retreat.

The digital numbers are a pale, thin glow,

holding the house at sixty-eight tonight.

The distance between us has started to grow

faster than the mercury can lose the light.