Larry Eigner's poem reads like a single glance at a street near sunset, broken into small pieces. The setting sun throws long shadows around a corner, and they seem to "project" tall and bug-like, flickering as they pass over trees and the road. The scene is ordinary, but the poem slows it down so we notice how light and shape keep shifting.
The line breaks do a lot of the work. Words like "moment" and "away from" sit alone, so the reader pauses in the same way the eye catches on something fleeting. Even the word "buggy" is split across two lines, as if the image can't quite hold still. The speaker doesn't announce a big feeling. Instead there is quiet, patient attention, with a hint of wistfulness in the line about things "changed here through the seasons." The mood is calm, watchful and a little dreamy, as though the poem is trying to catch a passing instant before it disappears.