On a cold night, a woman and her husband sleep apart: he outside on the porch, listening to coyotes, owls, and wind, and she indoors, warm, with a cat curled against her. The first stanza is quiet and still. The moon shines "like snow," so the light and the cold blur together, and the only sound in the room is the cat's breath.
The second stanza moves into a dream the speaker expects to have. She imagines working in a dark garden with her dead father, surrounded by fallen leaves and the smell of snow. A sound like a thousand bees rises, and her father opens the gate to let the moon in. She comes in whispering and covers the plants in white.
The speaker seems calm and content, even tender. The mood is hushed and dreamlike, and the dream treats death gently. Her father is present and helpful, and the moon becomes a soft, almost living visitor who blankets the garden.