Eclipse

They’d tracked Venus as it moved across the sky.

Carrying the god of love,

it drained all warmth from the sun

as they sailed on one more mission

heading south,

to another kind of eclipse.

Into the bay they float through the narrow strait

that opens, womb-like, to the delicate

sands of that great southern land.

Those men in ships,

extra-terrestrials; explorers.

On wary shores, you’re watching

held by the land, weapons at the ready,

just in case things get out of hand.

Men on country,

Kamay crew; circumspect.

Peering through wattle, you stand against tall trees

and ask why the dead return, all white

in strange regalia.

“You’re all dead”, you tell those

restless spirits, but the ghostly deaf,

they come too close.

It begins on a low tide,

as the sun sets, sparkling green and ochre

from the hinterland and the kookaburras

laugh their warning.

A spear splits the air, aimed to scare,

but those ghosts come to life, pistols blazing.