Three short scenes sit side by side, and the poem never says outright how they connect. In the first, a speaker with sore eyes keeps writing late into the night, tired but unwilling to stop. The second is an image of relief: a good shower of rain after a drought, the kind of thing that soothes dry ground. Then the last two lines turn darker. Guns have "made a hole / in people's discourse," as if gunfire has torn a gap in how people talk to one another.
The speaker seems to feel a mix of weariness, longing, and unease. The rain suggests what writing, or conversation, could be: something that refreshes after a dry spell. The guns suggest what interrupts it. The title, "Breach," fits that idea of something broken open. The mood is quiet and troubled, a lone voice working in the dark while violence leaves a silence where talk should be. The poem leaves the link between the images for the reader to work out.