The poem begins with a small, odd observation: even ordinary gestures like picking something up or setting it down feel different when the dead are near. The speaker seems to be describing a hush, a heightened awareness, as if the world has slipped slightly out of joint. Sound and echo "part company," and a strange extra day is added to the week, so time itself feels altered by grief or loss.
Then the tone shifts. The speaker suggests we try to imagine being free of any claim, like sunlight on a windblown meadow, or even play at being a ghost. The dead, we're told, are "ideal witnesses" because they neither hear nor see. That sounds almost comforting until the final lines, which turn dark and blunt: "We're making more of them / as quickly as we can." The mood moves from quiet, eerie reflection to bitter understatement. Judging by that ending, the speaker is troubled by how readily the living add to the number of the dead, and the calm voice makes the accusation hit harder.