The train rolls in each day like the end of time.
Smooth steel like cancellation shears across
the sky; a metal world meets this one,
precise, orthogonal. You hear the chime
descend along its Doppler finale
and halt. The body of the day begins.
Weekdays are desperate for a demarcation.
The vast details of morning would not conclude
without our schedules; our minds would toss
through dreams of sun and rain, and never be done.