The poem follows a walk through snowy woods, told in quick, broken phrases that feel like the walker's own steps. The speaker moves past pines, slides "ass down" to a beaver pond, and notices small things: grass, a slender ash tree, signs that a beaver has been at work. Then the speaker hikes back out, hearing their own heels and passing spruce and patches of quartz showing through the fields.
The ending matters most. The snow is "going gone / gone gone," and the repetition sounds almost like a chant or a footstep fading. It suggests a season slipping away, perhaps a thaw, though the poem never says so outright.
The mood is physical, alert, and quietly wistful. There is real delight in the rough, playful language and the close looking, but the loose punctuation and scattered lines also leave a sense of loss, as if the speaker is trying to hold on to something that is melting.