The poem begins with something ordinary: a person getting dressed and looking at their own body. Calling it "corn and lumber" is striking, because it makes the body sound like raw material, something grown or cut down, useful and perishable. From there the speaker slips into the old question "who am I," and the odd phrase "mouth surrender to mouth" suggests words or breath being handed on, perhaps the way one generation passes into the next.
The speaker also seems to be searching for "the right world" and finding only "new answers to very little," which sounds tired and unsure. The last stanza is the most direct. The speaker doesn't believe a finished life is "no great good," and the mention of the father's death makes the earlier questions feel grounded in grief. The mood is quiet, reflective and a little stunned, as if loss has made even simple things like dressing feel strange.