In just three short lines, the speaker addresses their own body with a mix of pity and dismay. "My poor inward parts" sounds almost tender, like someone speaking to a sick friend. The title, "Off limits," adds a sense of restriction: something inside is closed, forbidden, or unreachable.
The central image is a garden shut down "for want of room." It's a strange, slightly puzzling picture, since gardens usually suggest open space and growth. Here, the inner world seems cramped, with no space left for anything to flourish. The poem doesn't say what is crowding it, so readers are left to imagine illness, grief, or simply too much feeling.
The last line is the most mysterious: "only the unimaginable is saved." Whatever survives is beyond picturing, which feels both hopeful and bleak. The mood is quiet, compressed, and a little eerie, like a small sigh that leaves a lot unsaid.