The title, "Deconversion," suggests someone stepping away from a faith, and the poem reads like a few quiet fragments from that moment. The speaker doesn't explain much. Instead we get images. Ice is "a house I could not stay in," which sounds like a cold, rigid place, perhaps a certainty that felt safe but couldn't be lived in. The "tune I never hear" hints at something promised or expected that never arrived.
The second stanza turns to a plain, almost pleading question: how can anyone promise "forever" when all we have is the present? Fiddles, songs and an old horse at grass are warm, ordinary things, and they seem to offer a different kind of comfort, one rooted in the here and now rather than eternity.
The last question is the most open. "Which trouble is the truth" suggests that truth may arrive as something messy, standing in the streets rather than hiding in a doctrine. The mood is uncertain but gentle, wistful rather than angry, with a feeling of relief mixed into the loss.