A widower takes inventory of what his wife left behind, and the poem's broken, stacked phrasing shows how hard that is. Her "road and her doors" suggest a life of movement and openness, and "her never sit down" makes her sound restless and tireless. Then the line breaks on "her nothing her no / body," splitting the word "nobody" so that it also reads as "no body." Her absence is made physical: she is gone, and so is the person he knew.
The details that follow are not sentimental. She had a strict religion, lived "sober and drunk," and had a hand "melancholy as a careless gun," which hints at a dangerous sadness in her. The speaker seems to remember the whole, difficult person, not a saint. The last two lines, her "contract with me / to make whole," read as a bond he still feels bound by. The mood is bare, sorrowful, and unsettled, with love mixed with the ache of things unresolved.