Paekākāriki Hill

hunched like a guardian
above the village
under a full moon
silver light like tinsel
strewn through the trees

a bolt of blue light
exploded from the hillside
and sped south along
the railway line

at the creek mouth
it made an abrupt
90 degree turn
headed towards the island
and vanished into the sea

leaving black lines
when I blinked

like St Elmo’s fire
that rolled along the
Whitney’s wing, tip to tip
at dusk off Eden
once, decades ago
or Min Min lights
flickering their secrets
in the bush near Melbourne
one Christmas

legend says the hill
is male, the island
female, they long
for each other
but can never meet
and the whole world
exists on the energy
that pulses between them