Waiting for a reading to startwhen there’s nobody coming anywayis like waiting for the tideto make some meaning of the beach.
The sea doesn’t know or carewhat the beach even is, let aloneits cares or its troubles, itslittle nagging under-the-skin annoyancesthat make the beach the beach.
Sandworms, for example, or those crabswith big pincers on one sidebut not the other. Those really getthe beach’s gander up, but the seadoesn’t care. The sea
only wants to caress the beachwith its soft arms, to tell the beachhow much it’s loved by the sea,that complex of water, salt, andthe moon’s gravity, the mercuryrising up and down slowly, like a yawn.
The sea only cares about itself.The beach lays there and takes it.