Two short stanzas, a few quiet images, and a strange idea at the center: the speaker's day has a twin. Morning arrives in this "parallel day" in the same way it arrives for the speaker, as though a second version of life is running alongside the first, with its own sunrise and its own person waking up.
The second stanza is harder to pin down, which suits the poem's slightly dreamlike feel. Two instruments, "its" and "my," seem to meet, and the result is compared to "a mad committee." That image is funny and a little chaotic. I read it as two versions of the self, or two sounds, trying to play together without anyone in charge, everyone talking at once.
The speaker doesn't sound alarmed. The tone is curious and wry, with a gentle humor. The mood is calm on the surface but a touch unsettled underneath, like noticing that your own routine has an odd echo you can't quite explain.