"A Rabbit as King of the Ghosts," by Wallace Stevens

I keep reading “A Rabbit as King of the Ghosts” by Wallace Stevens. I keep reading it because every run-through brings a completely different understanding from the last. I read it and take notes. Then I read it again, throw out my complete set of previous notes which has become worthless, take new notes, then end up throwing out that garbage, too. I am extremely frustrated. I keep feeling things that cannot even begin to be described by words. Weird feelings. Some kind of warm discomfort. I want to think this is about death, but in this poem death does not seem very separate from life.
Here is what I think. I think I think it, anyway.
I think the speaker is the spirit of the rabbit, looking down on its own departed body and remembering the events that led to its murder. The moon shines on the bloodied carcass. The memory of the day lingers with the spirit: It was a peaceful, sunny day in August. The rabbit was enjoying the warmth and energy of the sun. He was at peace with himself and his environment as he basked in the glow and let his mind rest. He did not know that a cat was going to maul him to death.
I have so many questions that I cannot answer. What is “The difficulty to think at the end of day?” Does that say that the rabbit cannot think anymore because he is dead? He could think earlier in the day when he was alive; but now he’s dead so cannot think.
Maybe the speaker is not the rabbit, but merely speaks for the rabbit. The speaker is some omniscient being that is able to relate in human terms how the rabbit felt. In the grass, with the sun shining on him, the rabbit was complete. He was not only himself, he was part of the world. The environment around him existed with him. He existed with the environment. The world cannot exist as separate from the rabbit, just as the rabbit cannot be separated from the earth.
He dies. He is killed. But he does not leave the earth. He actually grows into the night. His essence evaporates from his body and mixes with the air, the wind, the moon, space. “A self that touches all edges,” (18).
What is the fur-light? What is the rabbit-light? Maybe that is an extension of the essence of the rabbit.
Oh, I also have this idea that the rabbit fell from a tree. The passage starting on line 14 says, “And east rushes west and west rushes down,/ No matter. The grass is full/ / And full of yourself.” (14-16). From the perspective of the cat, the rabbit-light is the obfuscation of the sun by the rabbit sitting high in the tree. From the perspective of the rabbit, west rushes down as he falls from the tree. As he collides with the ground, there is no matter. His body changes from solid matter to bloody liquid in the collision. And perhaps “No matter” also refers to the insignificance of his death, because he still is part of the earth. The grass is full of the rabbit because his blood covers the blades in a wide circumference spanning from the point of impact. The cat, at this time, is red because he is covered in blood, too.
Then the essence of the rabbit soars up higher than the body of the rabbit was able to reach in the tree. The new perspective of the spirit of the rabbit is able to look into the mind of the cat, which was referred to in line five as a “green mind.” From the eyes of the spirit’s expansive presence, “the little green cat is a bug in the grass.” (24).
I have said all of this, but it still does not feel true. I do not know what Wallace Stevens was going for here. I have learned something from tracing my own thoughts, but I’m not sure it is what the poet intended. Is Stevens pulling a prank on me with this thing? Collectively, I have spent a good portion of time on this poem and I do not feel any closer to getting to the meat of it.