In just four lines, the speaker, a war correspondent, admits something uncomfortable about the job. War is described as "a dizziness," a spinning, disorienting state where nothing feels steady. Then comes a blunt comparison: "desire is business." Wanting, it seems, is just a transaction, something bought and sold, perhaps like the news itself.
The last two lines turn inward. The speaker says their ink "will be water / till night," which suggests that the words they write are weak, diluted, unable to carry the weight of what they see. The phrase "till night" hints at a day of work that only ends in darkness, and maybe at a hope that something truer might come then.
The mood is tired and doubtful. Nothing is shouted. The short, clipped lines and the rhyme of "dizziness" and "business" make the speaker sound almost numb, as if the writer feels both dizzy and complicit, unsure that reporting can ever be honest enough.