At three the shore was lined with cheerful
People sunbathing, splashing, kayaking,
Sitting in folding chairs, chin-wagging,
Shooting the breeze, the warm and subtle,
Obliging breeze. An hour later, the clouds
Above the Valhalla ice field had gathered,
And I had the beach to myself for a while.
Shafts of light, foolish fire, shot through
From time to time as voices had earlier.
It’s all nonsense, you know, existence.
Nonsense and none with any choice in it,
Although, in one of our own peculiar corners
Within the general nonsense, we squirm,
Like this dragonfly larva molting on the rocks
At my feet, to get out of our obligations
To be whatever the sunlight shapes us to be.
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