The poem walks through one week, one day per line, and each day brings something different: turning an hour glass, sailing to the south west of Japan, exploring a new town, learning about the quran, sitting through the first cold of winter. The speaker packs a lot into these days, and the tone is matter-of-fact, almost like a diary. Only the Friday line shows a mood, a frown at the arrival of winter.
The ending shifts things. On Saturday the speaker's son starts crawling, a small milestone that marks time passing in a human way. Then comes the last line: the sand is "still falling." The hour glass from Monday never seems to run out, which makes the week feel both long and strangely suspended. Judging by the images, the speaker is aware of time moving on, through travel, learning and a growing child, yet he seems calm rather than anxious. The mood is quiet, reflective and gently wondering, with a touch of awe at how much life fits into seven days.