As the snow melts, the yard gives something back: two spots of blood, still there after the winter. The speaker doesn't say whose blood it is or what happened, and that silence is part of the poem's pull. We're left to sense that something past has been lying under the surface, waiting.
The second stanza turns to the snow itself, which wrinkles into long, dark lines as it settles unevenly. It's a plain, physical detail, but the word "faultlines" gives it weight, as if the ground carries cracks of a different kind. The ending is quiet and almost weary. The speaker mutters "I know you," talking to the thaw, the stains, or the feeling they bring. "We've been here before" suggests this is a familiar return, something that comes back every year. The mood is subdued and watchful, a mix of recognition and resignation, with the sense that old things never quite stay buried.