The title tells us where we are: at a bedside, keeping watch over someone who is dying. The poem itself is only four short lines, and its brevity feels like part of the point. There is hardly enough breath for a full sentence.
The first line, "burning but cold," seems to describe the person's body, fevered and yet chilled, or perhaps the speaker's own confused sensations. Then the poem turns to the ear. It is "too far / for me / to summon." The odd verb is striking. The speaker doesn't say "to speak to" or "to reach." Something is being called back, as if the listener has already drifted somewhere distant, and the speaker can't pull them back to hear a word.
The feeling is helplessness. Judging by the text, the speaker is close enough to touch but still cut off. The broken lines leave gaps that mimic silence, and the mood is hushed, tense, and quietly grief-stricken.