Watching trees sway in the wind, the speaker starts to see a hidden conversation between the branches above and the soil below. Each gives something to the other, and even shadows count as part of that exchange. From this the speaker draws a quiet idea: absence is always folded into presence, and silence sits behind every word we say.
The poem then turns toward people. We talk about the life we had, the one we have, and the ones we still hope for, all hanging in the air together. The title, "Either/Or," points to the hard part: choosing one means losing the others. Yet the speaker doesn't dwell on the loss. What matters is the shared moment, the scent of each other lingering, and the poem admits that the rest can't be put into words.
The mood is hushed, tender and a little wistful. The scattered spacing makes the lines feel like breath, or pollen drifting, and the ending trails off on purpose.