Maxwell’s Demon

Clicking in the wicker chair
A straw crawls to escape
Cold, but unven wind
Follows, leads, and motivates
It was just before, that
Rising air sat there
And everywhere with
No need to move since
So many windows loved
To be more than walls
(Both sides were seen)
And they were seen
As walls, too. And hesitates
The straw must, like
The floor, knowing
That air would rise again
With no click left in it