Written as a "confession," the poem begins with a run of things the speaker cannot do: cry, talk to strangers, love the person they love, remember their dreams. The repeated "I can't" feels flat and tired, like someone listing symptoms. Even the line breaks seem to stumble, as in "That went a / long time ago," which mimics the way a thought trails off. The speaker also says they have no purpose and no picture of the future, and that those things slipped away long ago.
Then the poem turns on "But what / I have is pain." That pain isn't wallowed in; the speaker says they overcome it, along with their losses. The closing lines move from "I" to "all of us," offering a quiet hope that things will improve. The mood is heavy and numb at first, then steadier and gently hopeful. The hope isn't loud or certain, just stubborn, which makes it feel believable.