The poem sets two pictures side by side. In the first, the speaker admits that drink is the "red light of my life," a stop signal that he either keeps running or knows he should obey. The title, "Stop light," plays on that idea. It sounds like a confession, a little rueful and plain-spoken, with no drama around it.
Then the scene shifts outdoors. It's "church-time," when people are expected to be indoors, and instead the speaker is among trees whose branches become "many hands." Those hands fill his pockets with filberts, which are hazelnuts. The gesture feels generous and unearned, like a gift handed over without any judgment.
The poem doesn't say how the two halves connect, so readers have to decide. I read it as a contrast between a habit that holds him back and a natural world that offers something simple and good. The mood is quiet, gentle, and slightly wry, with a sense of small grace.