A speaker stands outdoors at night, waiting for an owl to call, and nothing comes. The quiet seems to be the point. The owl is as silent as the coyotes, which the speaker knows about only through their footprints. Both animals are present but unseen and unheard, so the speaker has to rely on guesswork and attention rather than direct experience.
Then the poem turns. Night is pictured as ripe fruit hanging on branches, dark and heavy, and this gentle image is set against a sharply modern one: "the 24-hour Wal-Mart of the soul," where the speaker feels they are sinking. That phrase suggests a restless, over-lit inner life, always open and always chasing something. The night's darkness offers relief from that. The mood is hushed and patient, with a touch of weariness, and the stillness feels like a remedy the speaker is slowly taking in.