Down in the water at the lake, after the tranche
Of heartfelt performances played by the talented
And the brave, fragments of three families
Coincidentally gathered to play without talent
Or bravery for the sake of mere escape: three
Fathers, only one still more-or-less partnered,
The other two in the limbo of long separations,
Showed up with four children between them,
Three boys and a girl, to go swimming. The sun,
Which, to anyone’s certain knowledge, has never
Cared what goes on at the skin of the spinning
Pebble flagged with life eight light minutes
Off from its storms, shone down upon them
As they swam and invented games in the waves.
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