The speaker describes a dream in which a decision tree, the kind of diagram used to map out choices, hangs upside down on a blackboard. It has no roots, just branches splitting again and again. Each fork leads to a new pair of twigs, and each pair reaches out "like a tuning fork / into silence."
The title suggests the choices are about travel, and the image fits: every route taken splits into more routes. But the poem doesn't give us a tidy plan. The tree is "fabled," a little mythical, and it has nothing to anchor it. The tuning fork is the most interesting detail. A tuning fork is made to ring, yet these forks meet only silence, as if no choice produces a clear answer.
The mood is quiet, dreamlike and slightly uneasy. The speaker seems less anxious than watchful, observing how endless options can feel both orderly and strangely empty.