The poem begins big and ends small. The first lines talk about "visions like whole books," then name two huge subjects: "a history of land" and "a history of light." The speaker seems to be taking in something enormous, as if a single moment holds the story of the earth and the sun's long work on it.
Then the poem lands somewhere simple. "Where all things end in a green garden / and some cherries / my wife lying with me." After the grand sweep of history, we get fruit, plants, and a person close by. The title, "Microcosmic," fits this. The garden becomes a small version of everything.
The speaker feels quiet contentment, maybe gratitude. Nothing is argued or explained. The mood is calm, still, and tender, and the closing mention of his wife suggests that what matters most is being present with someone you love.