Read quickly, the poem is a single act of looking. Something striped, which the title suggests is a zebra, snags the eye, and the eye settles on its extremes: black and white, "all and nothing." The poem seems less interested in the animal itself than in the way those opposites sit "side by side," held together in one body and one frame.
The speaker sounds fascinated more than emotional. The clipped sentences and the stray space before the period after "nothing" make the voice feel like attention itself, stopping and starting as it takes things in. The final lines widen out, suggesting that this contrast can fill a moment so fully that it "consumes" the grass around it. Judging by the title's odd verb, "Zebra This Breath," the speaker may also want to turn a single breath into that same striped, suspended state. The mood is quiet, hypnotic, and a little strange, like staring at a pattern until everything else falls away.