The poem looks at the aftermath of a heavy rain in the woods. A cucumbertree has fallen, its roots pulled loose from a soaked hillside, and the speaker takes in what's left in short, quiet fragments. The upturned leaves show their pale undersides, and the seed pods are still tightly closed, as if the tree had no time to let go of anything.
Around the tree, the signs of loss pile up. The leaf litter has no black cherries scattered across it, which suggests the rain knocked the fruit off or ruined it. The red trilliums, once a crowd of color, have "melted away," and the only trace of them may be foam drifting down the stream.
The speaker never states a feeling outright. Instead the mood comes from careful noticing: calm, watchful, and a little sorrowful. The spare lines and gaps between them feel like pauses while someone walks slowly through the damage, accepting that the woods change, and sometimes all at once.