This poem is some kind of a puzzle, at first. It says that whatever the body says is to be heard by no one. But no one is a body, so no one can hear what is not to be said but you. And no one is here. So both of you can hear what is not to be said. Unless you are no one and nothing is said. Tricky.

It reminds me of how the conversation went in Reservoir Dogs when they were choosing the names. I could picture Mr. Pink (Buscemi) reciting the first stanza of the poem into the ear of Mr. White (Keitel) who would then make one of his frowning faces before he elaborated intensely and they both looked weirdly at each other.

Snowfall and night. Now haunted by the above scenario my mind leaps quickly to that episode of the Sopranos where Christopher and Paulie are lost in the woods. And the murder among the trees. So now the metaphor of the pen makes me think that the next episode is in jeopardy. Could be Auster is alluding to the fact that his last attempt at writing was a murder mystery, and it is the corpse of his writing muse murdered repeatedly. Or it means he keeps writing the same thing over and over again and once the snow melts and day breaks everyone will realize it and no one will care. And no one is here anyway. But you? Another tricky part.

Nevertheless it writes. OK. What ever was totally murdered on that snowy night in the woods, and metaphorically it would have to be his muse, was not him. But you. That's what I think it is saying. He killed his audience with bad poetry. Or bad writing. Unoriginal writing. Of course, the dialogue again dips back into an enigma and Paulie is explaining Yogi-Berra-like to a bemused Christopher about how the earth is the body and its color is whiteness and the earth is the writer and silence is the color of everything. "We gotta keep it quiet," he scowls, "or all is lost. If we survive da night, dat is."
And Christopher looks long and hard at Paulie's treacherous stare and says, "Ya, sure Paulie. Definitely."

I guess, in the wrap up it is saying that from the silence of the trees, though the body has been murdered, the words live on and will reach you. And in the spirit of the puzzle, the riddle of life, if I may, he says the body never dies. I take this to mean the writer's body of work. He is also telling his detractors that they are wrong in their interpretations of what he has said. I think that is the main point, the body lives as proof. And the words speak for themselves. However one might decide the outcome.