“Yes, of course, if it’s fine tomorrow…”

And so, the next day, we went.

But the lighthouse had already left.
No wick-burning, incandescent penal station
for hard-luck keepers.
Instead, we found a young, automated replacement.
Left all alone at Akaroa Heads, the old lighthouse—
French lens; Scottish mechanism; Australian hardwood; Kauri timber—
fell to pieces.

But it took the steep and narrow path to Cemetery Point,
and pulled itself together.

Restlessness is not a desirable quality,
in a lighthouse.

So, it settled closer to the town.

On special occasions, it shines a light                                                     on its own history.

Obviously, lockdown can be
No fun
And yet on my walks,
So many delightful moments:
A note posted on a bus shelter,
Publicly writing off a friend’s loan—
Keep the 2,000 dollars, Dennis!
Small children run out
Into a garden,
One chasing another
With a huge sweeping brush,
Both giggling and yelling.
A woman walking her pet,
But at the end of the lead—
Tada! A bunny-rabbit.
Even in subdued times,
Against a grey sky,
Vibrant pink magnolias bloom.