A quiet walk in a park turns into a meditation on death. The speaker notices a patch of soil that is partly a hole, with some grass growing over it, and the sight reminds her of a grave. The grass becomes an image of life lying on top of death, as if the two cannot be separated.
Far off, traffic hums, a sign of ordinary life carrying on. The speaker calls the contrast "tragic" and then "tragicomic," as though she can't decide whether to grieve or to smile at how strange it all is. The short, broken lines and the awkward phrasing add to the sense of a mind drifting and stumbling over its thoughts.
The mood is hushed, dim and unsettled. By the end, the only sound is her footsteps, and "Step, step" turns walking into a slow countdown. Heading toward the street, she seems to be heading toward death too.