Air Caught Trespassing
When a room relearns direction

Carpet peeled back
like a thought forgetting its own name.
*
Beneath it,
air caught trespassing.
Years flattened into scent.
A smell with instructions.
*
Flat days sleeping there,
stacked, rehearsed,
wearing the same grooves thin.
Weight applied daily.
Motion postponed.
*
Dust rising deliberately.
Granular, alert,
as if touch had left a fingerprint there
that refused to fade.
*
A room entering a brief error state,
Pressure leaning casually.
Corners with well-developed opinions.
Loose emotions drifting out of sequence,
Ownerless.
*
Exposure rearranges the math.
Everything sharpened,
Everything altered.
*
Fans cut invisible passageways,
While windows determine orientation
For air learning how to leave.
*
Residue hovers
long enough to state its name
and accept reassignment.
*
Wood waiting below,
uninterested in history,
ready for impact.
About the Creator
Shannon Hilson
Pro copywriter chasing wonder, weirdness, and the stories that won’t leave me alone. Fiction, poetry, and reflections live here.
You can check out my blog, newsletters, socials, and other active profiles via my Linktree.



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