A speaker visits a loved one's grave, carrying flowers, and sits quietly in front of the headstone. The smile they give it isn't a happy one. The poem calls it "almost a painful smile," the kind people wear when they're trying to hold something together. They stare off into the distance and wish the person were still alive.
When the speaker finally gets up, they wipe the dirt from their hands. It's a small, ordinary gesture, but it connects the title to the scene: dirt is what covers the grave, and it's also what the speaker has to brush off before leaving. The poem ends with two spoken lines. The speaker says they've moved farther than they thought they could, which suggests they've kept living and changed. But they missed the person more than they thought they would. Moving on, the poem implies, doesn't make the loss any smaller. The mood is quiet, sad, and honest.