Over just so many hills and round so many corners,
the blue lake flashes like an iris. We’d be thinking
we’re so far from home. And we are. On paper.
At the track’s end, we’ll get out and walk.
Love seems to be a kind of occupation.
In this vast space, our feet come down
on routinely overlooked marram grass patches.
I’m sure I’m not alone. And you tell me we aren’t.
Your presence shudders like the skim of birds
across the water. Then we go into the restaurant and eat.
