Jim. The poem is purely visual. It feels like reportage. There is no sensation in the poem, not even of numbness. Here is numbness:
After great pain, a formal feeling comes -
The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs -
The stiff Heart questions ‘was it He, that bore,’
And ‘Yesterday, or Centuries before’?
The Feet, mechanical, go round -
A Wooden way
Of Ground, or Air, or Ought -
Regardless grown,
A Quartz contentment, like a stone -
This is the Hour of Lead -
Remembered, if outlived,
As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow -
First - Chill - then Stupor - then the letting go -
I hope that might help in revision.
It is always wise to remember that one's intentions for a poem and the reader's perception of that poem may differ widely, and that one may have to work to alter those perceptions that they might align with those intentions.
Hope this helps.
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