Reading this poem is a bit like listening to jazz: you don't decode it so much as let it wash over you. The title points to Chet Baker, so the poem seems to answer music, though it never describes a song directly. Instead it gives us sounds and images that drift and echo: glass, a "forking echo," a "symphony" that gathers even while silence asks us to listen more closely.
In the second half, time slows. Hours "unroll" and imitate rest, and the speaker seems to wonder, or search, as wind and water argue and rebuild. Spring arrives as a hopeful maybe rather than a promise. The last word, "unharmed," feels like a quiet exhale.
The speaker seems patient and reflective, more curious than certain. The mood is hushed, fluid, and gently hopeful, as if the music has left a calm space behind it.