The title, "Ephemera," points to things that don't last, and the poem's first image fits that: art made out of sand at the sea, bound to be washed away. The speaker asks, almost idly, whether such a work "will it sing", whether it can speak or move anyone at all.
The question then turns toward the audience. A whore, a church lady in white gloves, and "us" are named side by side, as if the art might reach very different kinds of people, and the poem doesn't rank them. The last lines are stranger. "News ear / and a going mouth" suggests listeners who are hungry for the latest thing and quick to talk about it, perhaps without really taking it in.
The mood is wondering and a little wry. The speaker seems unsure whether fleeting art can matter, and a bit rueful about how we receive it. The short lines and missing punctuation make it feel like a thought spoken aloud, then left hanging.