The speaker pictures a world that has dried up and been left behind: empty plains, sunken cities, wilted flowers, blank checks. Each image points to something that once promised life or value and now delivers nothing. The blank checks are especially sharp, since they suggest wealth that was never filled in.
Then the poem turns to people. The speaker says they no longer know what life is, because poverty is all they have been taught. Being destitute has become a habit passed down, not just a condition. That's why the last lines land so hard: these people are "only a little more alive" than the bones themselves.
The mood is bleak and heavy, but not exactly hopeless. The repeated "I speak of dry bones" sounds like someone bearing witness, insisting that this deadness be noticed. The speaker seems sad and quietly angry, wanting readers to see that poverty can drain more than money.