Rachel Habraken's poem speaks to someone who wanders, and the speaker seems both fascinated and a little wistful about it. The opening lines say distance doesn't matter to this person, who goes "a small way more" each night. That makes the wandering feel gradual and steady, as if the traveler is slowly drifting farther out.
The rest of the poem is a string of imagined scenes. The speaker pictures time stopping, the world going quiet, and the darkness deepening. Would the wanderer stop and wait for a bit of starlight? Then the moon appears, pale above a "phantom sea of clouds," lighting the path down "black silken roads." The final comparison, a "cynosure," means a bright center of attention, so the wanderer becomes the one thing the night looks toward.
The mood is hushed, dreamy and tender. The speaker doesn't seem to be following, only watching and wishing, which gives the poem a gentle, curious feeling.