First came insulation.
Pink rolls cut to fit between studs.
Fibers lifted and entered skin.
We wore masks and still coughed through dinner.

Then weatherstripping.
Foam pressed into door frames,
rubber sweep screwed to the bottom of the back door
until daylight no longer showed under it.

The house improved.

Less road noise, less wind.
Less evidence of weather making decisions without us.

At night the rooms held sound more efficiently.
A cup touching the counter became an event.
The refrigerator shuddered through the floorboards.

Breathing acquired edges.

We wanted less noise.
What remained had nowhere to disperse.

In the morning I found a strip of foam peeling loose near the door.
Cold air entered in a line thin enough to feel engineered.

I pressed it back.
The house sealed again.