In my dream last night you came home, and

we sat on an old EH Holden bench seat in the yard. It

stank of cat piss and geranium. You made

small tears in the weather-worn

vinyl.  We built a fire out of old fence palings. You

roasted potatoes and kumera and

sweet black garlic and we ate together.

 

Last night I dreamed you came home, with

sand in the conches of your ears, and

island-wedding petals drooping

in your hands.

 

When you came home, in my dream, your

body wasn’t bloated with

Indian Ocean,

your face was brown, not

blue,

your hands were warm and dry. When

you opened your mouth to speak,

unpolished jade chips spilled out into your lap.

 

I woke up alone at Sandgate station. My 

hands curled around a three-kilo net 

of oranges. I woke up alone but in my dream

you’d come home.