A short, dreamlike moment on a coach journey: someone passes by, or perhaps a memory of someone does, and her face seems to turn like a wheel, rolling past the window or through the speaker's mind. The image is odd and a little dizzying, as if a glimpse of a stranger (or a person once known) can spin a whole feeling into motion.
The second stanza shifts to conversation. The word "entangle" suggests that talking fills the hours, but also catches people up, binding them together or tangling them in something they didn't plan. Travel time becomes a kind of snare, pleasant and slightly risky.
Then the poem ends with finches singing in the middle of the night. It's a surprising, almost magical image. Birds shouldn't sing then, so it feels like something unexpected breaking through. The mood is light, restless and wondering. The speaker seems caught between movement and connection, and the final image leaves a sense of quiet delight, though its exact meaning stays open.