Diaspora dream

David Bleiman

So rooted here, I am become a tree,
washed in on flames of choice the wind has fanned,
like all the others looking out to sea.

Though not a son of this community,
I grow around your railings, here I stand,
so rooted here, I am become a tree.

Another stripe in your geology,
a layer in the rock, a sandstone band,
like all the others looking back to sea.

A fine example, 1953‒
you count my rings and try to understand
why, rooted here, I am become a tree.

I am grown tall and tied, yet landing free,
your breeze/my branches shape a wishing sound,
like all the others looking out to sea.

And in this dream you make a bench of me,
to sit, while children dabble in the sand,
so rooted here, I am become a tree,
like all the others looking out to sea.