By | 1 August 2017

as kids we danced in circles,
holding hands the gentle tug of arms would ripple
so we fell inwards
and outwards,
groggy with the game of gravity,
inwards and outwards,
and if we fell the circle would catch us

you whisper: “there are stories in the stars”
and trace the belly of the Big Emu

your father taught you the arcs and names of the planets
and long after their empire has fallen
the Romans still conquer the night,
every night

my stars are nameless,
the Milky Way a path for no-one, leading no-where,
a highway in the desert of the sky

it is the sum
of 1 and 1 and 1

we now dance alone,
imagine we live outside time,
on the tip of a line,
at the precipice of a new frontier

we walk in circles,
annotated in straight lines:
all crucifixes and fences

you read in a book
that everything has a story —
a rock, and a road, and a river

that nothing is orphaned from time

you walk by the stadium built on a marngrook ground
and the freeway that follows the songlines.

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