for sylvie & the moonee ponds creek

By | 7 October 2021

something milked & my tummy rumbles
I haven’t seen the sea in so long. I read
somewhere that sand is carried by river
a product of endless watery movement
but let me not be a thing that carries
or is carried but a hand grasping air
stooping to dig at the surface that
gurgles & leaks & never says anything.
that day I was learning the river for the
last time & I noticed ‘Fritz’ spray painted
on concrete, the sound of frying seeds
like a whiplash of wind named before it
hurts & everyone walked possessed.
somewhere, upstream, I hear that pepper
trees shed salmon leaves & the marsh
is a sinkhole, a blinking cyclops of thin light
but here, I nest inside the distance of a
thing carried & how faintly the water coos.

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