Ash Cave, Hocking Hills is a quiet snapshot of a place where almost nothing happens, and that is the point. Water drips from the rim of a canyon. Leaves fall from dark trees. A spider's web catches one leaf. The speaker never says "I" or states a feeling, so we're left simply watching, as if standing there in silence.
The poem's shape does a lot of the work. The short lines fall down the page like drops of water, and the ending loops back to the opening image: "From canyon lips / the water / drips." Nothing is resolved, because the cycle just keeps going. Even the single leaf in the web feels small and gently held rather than trapped in any threatening way.
The mood is calm, patient and a little hushed. The speaker seems to feel attentive wonder, the kind that comes from noticing small details. The poem suggests that a place like this doesn't need explaining, only paying attention to.