Three short lines hold a quiet morning moment. The speaker is having coffee, and the poem slips into a small piece of wordplay: "the art of night is to go back / to morrow." Split in two, "to morrow" sounds like "tomorrow," but it also looks like "to morrow," as if night's task is to return to a place called morrow, an old word for morning. So night doesn't simply end. It circles back and hands the day over to the morning the speaker is sitting in.
The feeling is calm and a little wondering. The speaker seems to be half awake, noticing how language and time fold into each other over a warm cup. Nothing dramatic happens, and the mood is gentle, reflective, and a bit playful. The line break lets the reader pause and catch the double meaning, which makes the morning feel like a small discovery rather than an ordinary start to the day.