A speaker wakes from a dream they can't recall, with one urgent feeling: breathing matters, and so does continuing to breathe. The words "despite fear, loneliness or depression" suggest how heavy that insistence is. The mention of the pandemic and of moving out hints at a life in limbo, though the poem doesn't say more than that.
The stone is the center of the prose section. The speaker finds it charming, pockets it, then puts it back beside the trail for a child to find. It's a small act of letting go, and the speaker seems to choose generosity over holding on. The reference to Charles Simic's idea of a stone as "a mirror that works poorly" adds a quiet thought about how we look at ourselves in objects and see only a blurred reflection.
The closing three lines shift into something lighter. "Brachiate" means to swing from branch to branch, and here the speaker imagines their lungs "leaf out" like a tree. The mood is tender and hopeful, with a gentle sense of relief.