Migrant

You knew how it would be before you came:
your dreams take root in an alien sky;
wither; you watch them die -
and hark back to immensities of beach,
a light-sluiced tidal flat where mangroves
grasp the air tenaciously, and slow
waves creep; a faded dwelling-place, its timbers
bleaching like an upturned hull;
lament of gulls, the shriek of lorikeets.

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