Ohashi's poem moves through a hazy, half-awake world where nothing quite holds together. It opens on plastic "effigies" floating in the sea, with sandwich bags standing in for permits, which suggests a place where waste and bureaucracy have blurred into one absurd picture. The speaker seems weary and a little darkly amused. Ordinary life shows up as a "gyre" of repetitive talk, with "monotonous labyrinthine symposiums" and then a flat tire that interrupts the flow, a joke that lands like a shrug.
The third stanza turns inward. The "circling sheep" make noise, ideas smear into each other, and the speaker asks when we actually fall asleep, as if waking life already feels like dreaming. The final couplet shifts tone. It offers a calmer thought: "from dreams comes responsibility." Perhaps the poem is saying that even in the fog, imagination and reflection are where we begin to take our lives seriously. The overall mood is drowsy, wry, and cautiously hopeful.