Four short lines, and almost every one tugs at the edges of ordinary sense. The speaker imagines being inside "the wool of the river," as if the water were a thick, soft fleece that wraps around them. The title, "Riverine," points the same way: this is a mind thinking in the language of rivers.
What the speaker feels seems to be a loosening of the self. "I should be profuse" suggests spilling over, flowing freely and without holding back, the way a river does. Then comes a paradox: "journey anywhere at home." Travel happens without leaving, perhaps because the river carries you while you stay in a place you belong. The last line, "appear duskish," gives a dim, half-lit picture of the speaker fading softly into evening colors.
The mood is quiet, dreamy and a little mysterious. The poem doesn't explain itself, so it reads more like a feeling of drifting and belonging than a story.