The speaker is caught in memory, and the poem moves between two kinds of looking back. In the first section, a voice, perhaps the speaker talking to himself, tells someone to ignore the stiff, distant faces of the street and recall something more intimate: bees at the honeysuckle, a lover's clothes beside the bed, birdsong late into the morning, her leg and arm wrapped around him. But even this tenderness carries unease. The woman at the window looks plaintive, sighing for relief from "more uncertainty."
The second section shifts to an evening of cold dusk air and a flickering street-lamp. The speaker watches a violet sunset fade while she returns a letter from his brother. The poem suggests that the relationship has ended or is slipping away. December, once gentle with snow, is now described as cruel, and the mornings feel forced. The mood is wistful and quietly sad, with sensual memory set against a colder, more resigned present.