Nothing in "Shore Front" is calm, even though it begins in haze. The poem moves through a series of small, sharp images: a Manx cat crying from a wet field, ravens hovering and then dropping on their prey, hornets crowding the window. Each one is a creature either in distress or on the hunt, and the poem never steps back to explain them.
The speaker barely appears. The only hint of a personal presence is the phrase "our window pane," which places the speaker and someone else indoors, watching. That distance suggests unease more than comfort, as if the glass is the only thing between them and the violence outside. The final line, where the sun "burns all before drowning," sets a feeling of fierce, doomed intensity over the whole scene.
The mood is tense and foreboding. The haze blurs everything, while the verbs, "hang," "drop," "grappling," "burns," make the world feel predatory and close to collapse.