"Implicit" is only nine words long, but it leaves a lot of space around them. Each short stanza sets a place or situation beside something bare. Where we'd expect a house, there is a hut. Where we'd expect a defense, an argument or some proof of worth, there is only dust. And where the future should be, there is "a head full of night."
The speaker sounds humbled and quietly resigned. Nothing is shouted. The shrinking of a house into a hut suggests a life with less comfort or certainty than it seems to promise. Dust offers no defense at all, which hints at mortality, or at the sense that nothing we say will last. The final image is the darkest: the future lives inside the speaker's own head, and it is filled with night, so it could mean fear, not knowing, or death itself.
The mood is hushed, cold and a little haunting. The title suggests these meanings are never stated outright, only implied, and the reader has to feel them in the gaps.