The speaker pictures himself as an old boat that has been ordered to burn, and the poem plays out that fire in a few short lines. The light seems to tear the boat apart, and ash flies up. Then comes a surprising turn: the ash is "as bountiful / as I am drunk." Destruction and drunkenness get tangled together, so the burning feels both grand and a little ridiculous.
The title, "Maudlin," points to the mood: the sloppy, tender sadness of someone who has had too much to drink. The speaker is grateful that another person, "you," stays with him, and calls them kind. But he ends on a bleak, self-mocking note, predicting he will have "no success / at anything wise." It reads like a confession made late at night. He knows he is a wreck, and he half-laughs at it, while still feeling the warmth of not being alone.