This poem just came to mind now as I was wrapping up for the night. Larkin, in typically lugubrious fashion, is dwelling on what I suppose is a sort of annihilation of the self. It puts one in mind of other bits of his verse - "beneath it all, desire of oblivion runs" etc. But what is so brilliant here is how thrilling he makes the notion sound - and how beautifully he allows the thought to build up over the course of the poem.
Absences
Rain patters on a sea that tilts and sighs.
Fast-running floors, collapsing into hollows,
Tower suddenly, spray-haired. Contrariwise,
A wave drops like a wall: another follows,
Wilting and scrambling, tirelessly at play
Where there are no ships and no shallows.
Above the sea, the yet more shoreless day,
Riddled by wind, trails lit-up galleries:
They shift to giant ribbing, sift away.
Such attics cleared of me! Such absences!
This essay by Graham Chesters ruminates on the piece in some detail and is worth a look.
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