Two short haiku-like frames hold a dream told in plain prose. The katydids bookend it: their calls drift in and out of sync, and the speaker compares that to "our ragged breaths," which suggests two people lying awake together in the night. The closing version shifts to "together apart / together," as if the sync has finally been found, or at least accepted.
The dream in the middle is part familiar, part strange. The speaker's hometown has blended with London, grown bigger and more bohemian, and he leaps down a glass staircase, nearly flying. His wife, playing a Bond girl, asks how he can do it without getting hurt. His answer, "This is all just a dream," turns into a question: "Is it real for you?"
That last line carries the poem's feeling. It is tender and a little wondering, reaching across the gap between one person's inner world and another's. The mood is quiet, intimate, and dreamlike, with closeness and separateness sitting side by side.