The speaker turns into a fire, and the whole poem plays out inside that image. At first the fire is dreaming "of some accident," as if it longs to break loose or to happen by chance rather than by plan. Then comes a feeling of being watched: "I could feel them / look into me." The speaker seems exposed, almost like something on display, with others peering into the flames.
The turn arrives with "going out." As the fire dies down, the speaker declares, "I was not my pain." That line reads like a release, a quiet claim that suffering was something passing through, not the whole self. In the last lines, "lying down / I made a full rose," the burning settles into something beautiful and complete. Perhaps the glowing embers, or the shape of a body at rest, become a bloom.
The mood is hushed and dreamlike, a little eerie but ultimately calm. Pain is not erased here. It is changed into something whole.