The speaker is caught in a loop of their own thinking. The opening line corrects itself mid-sentence: "I stay, I cannot stay / in my own head." It sounds like someone who is stuck somewhere they can't bear to remain, and also can't leave. That restlessness runs through the whole poem.
Then comes a startling boast: "I have made more light / than the Lord." It could be pride, but it reads more like the exhaustion of an overactive mind, one that produces ideas and brightness without end, and maybe without peace. The title, "Resolutions," matters here. The speaker resolves to "sit" and to "make way," then ends by wanting to "be undone." That last wish feels like surrender, a hope to loosen the grip of the self rather than win some victory. The mood is tense and strained at first, then quieter and more yielding, as though the speaker finally gives up the fight with their own head.