You said, “I’m cold”
Neglecting to mention
how hands and feet follow your body;
how candle flames feel damp
against your skin.
You pitched yourself anguine against floorboards,
brought hands to face to feet
over again, in your pattern
of waking and sleeping and grinding your teeth
against your teeth.
And in the corner, two mice too timid
to shake your hand
pick themselves up from cracks in the wall
to remember that cold, heat and warmth
are but devisions of your gaze.