Clay

IMMIGRANT

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He wakes, his bed on the high seas

drifting beyond the lighthouse,

memories are headlands fading,

his childhood a life jacket.

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He stumbles to the upstairs window.

Outside in a gale the dustbin tumbles

with last year’s Christmas tree.

On the horizon a glimmer from an iron dawn

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shatters through a bush on a rocky outcrop.

Gnarled with only one branch facing east

it confetties a derelict quarry with blossom.

This reckless forgiving hauls him ashore.