Merri Creek 

‘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.