A person lies in the heat, covered by only a thin sheet, and feels almost like a ghost. The sheet makes the body a shape under cloth, and the speaker seems to float outside it, as if watching or half-absent. That sense of distance is the heart of the poem.
The speaker notices "a strangeness / between hand and head," as though the parts of the self no longer connect properly. Heat and tiredness can do this, and the title suggests a feverish, overwhelmed state. Then comes the odd, tender line "I miss the body's city." Calling the body a city makes it seem busy, full of life and parts working together, and the speaker feels shut out of it.
The last two lines turn toward death. Instead of fear, the speaker asks a quiet, almost curious question: after dying, will I be friends with my body? The mood is hazy, lonely and gently wondering, with a hint of longing to be reconciled with oneself.