Written as a portrait of the moon, the poem never names it in the lines themselves. The title gives it away, and the poem is a list of what the moon does and, more pointedly, what it fails to do. It makes "clones" that look like nothing else, shows only one of its faces, and offers reflections where the sun gives real warmth. Its light is thin and broken, only "fractions" across a dark sky.
The speaker sounds a little disappointed, even cynical. The moon is called empty, holding "no real truth or meaning," and seems to exist just to fill the sky for people passing by or leaving. The ending is the sharpest part. The moon guides travelers and the lost until morning, then leaves them stranded just as they might need it. The mood is quiet, lonely and slightly bitter, like trusting something that was never able to stay. The short, clipped lines make the poem feel like a light fading out.