The speaker dresses in gray riding clothes and climbs the garden stairs, as if preparing for a hunt. Then comes the strange part: they "make a hand with five guns" for the king's falcon. Falconers hold out a gloved fist for a bird to land on, so the speaker seems to be offering their own hand, but turning it into something armed, perhaps five fingers imagined as five guns. The image is odd and a little threatening, a perch and a weapon at once.
The last lines shift the scene inward. The falcon "fell asleep in my head," which suggests the whole ritual is happening in imagination, or that the speaker's thoughts have become the place where the bird rests. The mood is dreamlike and quiet, with a faint edge of tension. Everything is prepared, the clothes, the stairs, the hand, but the hunt never arrives. The poem seems to leave us in that held, drowsy moment before anything happens.