The speaker describes a seizure happening outdoors, in a garden, and the poem is so short that it feels like the seizure itself: sudden, narrow, over before you can settle. The key moment is "my whole mind against / one stone." The line break leaves the mind pressed up against something hard and unmoving. Everything else seems to fall away, and all that remains is one small, solid thing. It reads as the way a seizure can shrink awareness down to a single point.
The last image, "a rabbit at the fire," is the strangest and most striking. A rabbit caught in firelight might freeze, wide-eyed and helpless, or be drawn toward something dangerous it can't understand. Either way, it suggests fear, vulnerability and a loss of control. The speaker doesn't explain how it feels, but the images do the work. The mood is tense and exposed, quiet on the surface but deeply unsettling, with the calm garden setting making the loss of control feel even sharper.