Ridpath's poem sits in a strange gap between the tiny and the enormous. The speaker is stuck in an ordinary, even grubby moment, with mold gathering on a windowsill, yet is aware that the planet is spinning at huge speed beneath that stillness. The opening line sets up that contrast: you can feel motionless and be moving fast at once.
From there the poem turns to memory and time. The speaker keeps "chronicles" and describes a "chronological account of a non-linear path," which suggests a life that looks orderly on paper but didn't feel that way. The image of washing in "the universe's bath" is gentle and almost playful, as if the speaker sometimes rinses off everyday worries by thinking cosmically.
The last line is the longest and loosest, mirroring the "floating" it describes. The speaker finds it delightful to drift free of the "straying thread" that ties us in place. The mood is dreamy, calm and a little wistful, with a mix of detachment and comfort.