Set Point

The hallway is a narrow strip of cold

where we meet but never really speak.

I turned the dial until the numbers hold

at sixty-four. The floorboards give a creak.

I’m back in bed when I hear the sound—

that mechanical click, a small, blue light.

The furnace wakes up from deep underground

because you couldn't stand the chill of night.

We trade degrees like they are heavy blows.

The vent hums a low, aggressive tune.

The air between two people grows

dry and thin by the afternoon.