The poem is short and a little cryptic, but its feeling is easy to catch: a quiet loneliness that ends in retreat. It opens with a circle of stones, which the speaker imagines as a "coven in stone." The stones seem to look at the human visitors and might mistake them for dead. That's an odd, slightly eerie reversal, since we usually think of the stones as the lifeless ones.
Then the poem turns inward. The speaker pictures people in their "ownwhere," a private world of their own, aching to be "by others." Nobody quite manages to reach anyone else. The title suggests a loop, and the poem seems to travel in one too: out among the stones, into the cold of "night and ice," and then back "to my head," where the speaker ends up alone with their thoughts.
The mood is hushed, chilly, and wistful. It sounds less like despair than like a familiar, slightly resigned solitude.