Written as a note the speaker leaves for themselves, the poem is a gentle warning against trying too hard to figure out who you are. The first image makes the point. A deer panics, birds scatter, a rabbit trembles, all because a human is coming closer. Eagerness, the poem suggests, can frighten off the very thing you want to approach, and that includes your own self.
The middle stanza turns a little strange. The speaker asks themselves to consider that "they" might be right about them, and then compares "they" to people we trust to predict earthquakes. The tone feels wry and uneasy: those experts are respected, yet earthquakes still arrive without much warning. Judgments about us may be just as shaky.
The ending lets go of perfection. Fussing over every detail is like polishing broken columns in a Greek temple whose god has been forgotten. The mood is quiet, humbled, and a bit amused, as if the speaker is learning to loosen their grip.