the house is
quiet
and all around
is the hum
of the night;

the air in the vents
sings a breathy old tune
that i hear every night
in my bed

and the floorboards
they creak their own melodies, too
and the footsteps up stairs
is what conduct them

and the television downstairs
makes the house feel alive
when the others are all
sound asleep

and the windows
they rattle, unfixed in their frames
and i fear they may never
hush.