The speaker bends to pick a book off a low shelf and feels the room swim, a small physical wobble that he has to steady with both hands. From there the poem leaps across an ocean to someone else, probably a loved one, who is just waking at 1:00 a.m. in a different time zone. We get her world in quick, vivid details: a cat or fox screaming in the garden, a dog following her downstairs.
The two of them talk, and for a moment the five hours between them disappear. Then she asks what the Bible means by "in the fullness of time," a phrase about waiting for the right moment to arrive. It fits the poem's quiet ache: they are apart, yet the conversation makes them feel together. The ending settles on one tender image, her hair still in a bun with chopsticks through it. The mood is intimate, sleepy and affectionate, with longing sitting just under the calm surface.