The poem follows a man through a mass shooting, told in calm, short lines that make it more chilling. He wakes from a dream, and a voice in his head convinces him that his sorrows are seeds and that his town is a field waiting to be planted. The farming language turns violence into something he sees as ordinary work. "Time to prune" is the most disturbing moment, because he treats killing children as a chore. His mother tries to stop him, but he pushes past her.
The poem never names the act. It only says "It rained / Bullets," and the line break makes the word land like a blow. The speaker seems driven and certain, with no doubt left. Then the poem shifts. "They all fell" includes him, and the aftermath is a field of weeping flowers. The mood is cold, grim, and sorrowful, and the closing image suggests grief that has no end.