‘We are slowly beginning to suspect that the space / we are travelling through is of a different kind.’ – Harry Martinson, Aniara
I hold my breath when passing
strangers. This movement not unlike
a river. People sitting in small crop
circles next to a velodrome.
The question is: when does water
end? I recognise my friend’s weary eyes.
She says it’s not screen fatigue.
Sometimes the sound of rain is just leaves
scuttling across pavement.
I try to talk about something other than
case numbers, wildfires or the man in the white
house with COVID-19. The whole time her hand a galaxy from mine.
Broede Carmody is the author of the poetry collection Flat Exit (Cordite Books, 2017). His work has also appeared in journals such as Meanjin, Voiceworks and Stilts.