More (Day 771)

My habit was hard 

to break   with 

every hour 

that passed   I yearned 

more

to commit  reclaim

the mistake I’d made 

before   and never 

would live down   so hard 

to break

that waking dream  

the inadvertent glance  

the furtive check and check

and maybe now 

but no

more

forgetting   a blue landscape   

bittersweet as grandma’s hands   

so small and cool 

and papery   fallen 

rose petals   or a letter   

perhaps   reread  refolded 

a hundred times 

more

tiny rivulets of blame   clear 

and cold as nails   trace 

figure-eights into the glass 

otherwise opaque   you see

before you come   that

faint movement 

of your hand   I know 

this break 

and hard   I know it

more

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: Caroline/Flickr (CC BY 2.0) 

Near Enough (Day 770)

A  breath   near 

enough   almost   to caress  

my ear   feather   floating  

disembodied   on indigo air  

exhalation   mere whisper  

urging   stay   with me 

walking   away   became

come      come

back       back

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: Blue Ox Studio/Pexels

Haiku for Day 769

Wine sky strewn with stars

Hills cast shadows onto night

Each hour sinuous

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: Pixabay

On the warmest days (Pt 2, Day 768)

And  on the warmest days
each breath of air
an infant kiss   blushing
cherries ripen  gently
imposing their will
on the straining limbs
of treasure-laden trees

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: Picryl

Any day... (Day 767)

You can hear it coming if you close your eyes 

and allow yourself to grow still   

allow yourself to become 

transparent   an open window

like a gale   a storm   a two a.m. freight train 

rumbling inexorably in the middle distance   

you can hear it coming    any day   any day   

any day now   and try   cry   plug your ears 

as you might   there is nothing you can do 

to change its course   

it is tattooed with your name 

it knows the indented shape your restless head 

leaves on that gold satin pillowcase 

it is intimate with the quickening of your heart 

when you wonder 

it has mined the bitter ore of your fear 

and grown rather fond of the work

to your credit   you never think    

not even for a moment   that a change of track 

will derail what is already underway   

arriving any day   any day now   because   

no matter what all those slick sleek people say   

you know better   you’re no fool

and you can hear it coming

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

The coldest days (Pt 1, Day 766)

On the coldest days 

the river stands still and 

listens for the cracking 

of its own frozen heart 

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: Matej Novosad/Pexels

Beyond (Day 765)

Beyond 

the deep blue 

substance of time,

shadow begets light,

and broad-shouldered

mountains, once crowned

with mist and snow, endure 

their slow descent. Inevitably,

grain by grain, they return

to the sea, in the way

all things have  

of changing,

of passing,

until they

are no

more, 

but 

then, 

slowly,

so gradually

as to be barely

noticeable, they

begin to rise again.

Always, always, they

will rise again, until, in

the end that never truly

comes, they surpass even 

their own memories of grandeur.

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: Carol Baldwin/NOAA

In the crease (Day 764)

take care 

not to bruise 

the fragile 

invisible future 

allow no broken 

tomorrows 

and insist on 

the fullness 

of each hour 

it is too easy 

to miss 

the splendour 

in the crease 

between 

night and day

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: stanbalik/Pixabay

Don’t be frightened of your shadows (Day 763)

Don’t be frightened of your shadows.

Without darkness, how would you know 

the subtle shining of a nascent light?

Instead, delight in the blurry edges—

twilight-tinted corners, forever shielded 

from the moon’s softhearted gleam.

Embrace those small, wakeful hours, 

when truth and dream intertwine, rising 

on fragile wings from Spirit’s fruitful fields.

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: Migsihi Kōtarō. Butterflies Flying above Clouds. (1934). 

Oil on canvas. Via Wikimedia Commons

Haiku for Day 762

Faceted half-light

Sweet and bitter afternoon 

Vine of clustered hours

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: Pixabay

Like This (Day 761)

a small mosaic 

table   a summer town

like this   bounty of flowers

fountain quivering 

in the distance   dancing 

ripples of light 

teasing your eyes

soon   

like an iced glass 

of amber tea   droplets 

glimmer   even in the air 

balmy beneath a lush canopy 

of walnuts and maples

and waiting

knowing someone is coming

is almost there

a smile touching 

the corners of your mouth

almost there

as if your lips were already 

preparing for the kiss

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

The possibility of stone (Day 760)

a couple stands   contemplating an expanse 

of frozen water   aggressively 

billowing   tumbling from clifftops   smashing 

the possibility of stone submerged  hard 

as a long cold season   they performed their duties   

nestling   clusters of citrus fruit on laden boughs  

perambulating   an allegiance of sacred women 

gowned in mourning-dove gray   and now   

pinpricks of moisture piercing the air around her

she turns in one miniscule movement   sees

what have they done   has she done   finally

belonging to you stings like fire

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: PxHere

Small and quiet hours (Day 759)

Everyone knows those questions

in the small and quiet hours

a deep hush   joyful   broken 

by the swish of diminishing snow

by the comfort of books

and all the stars slip into place

like before   wait   notice

and be grateful for the nights

and take pity on the dark corners

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: skeeze/Pixabay

On a Hidden Path (Day 758)

Saturday afternoon voices 

linger on the air 

and we have some time 

between waves   

evening turns down 

the moon and night hesitates 

in the walls   reverberating   

raining down   drenching us 

where we fell on a hidden path   

hold on to me and 

hold your breath   

you whispered as we lay   entwined 

on the forest floor   we forgot 

to look where we were 

walking and tripped 

over the same stone 

(c) 2019, Hannah Six

Image: Henri Rousseau. Tropical Forest with Monkeys 

(1910). Oil on canvas. Via Wikimedia Commons.

Love Walks Through (Day 757)

Love walks through 

broken glass   unaware 

of the sharp edges

at water’s edge   reluctant 

to encounter its own 

image   in a surface 

without ripples

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: Boarderbloke/Pixabay

Another Shadow (Day 756)

another shadow   bright as stars   spinning

toward truth   fearless   flawless as stone

or paint or dreams   carved from a slow silent

blooming   petals of ice   drifting
approaching the tip of an outstretched heart

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: Simon Wachholz/NOAA

Smokescreen (Day 755)

Fourteen-karat stars ablaze

the very air seethes with wishes

in a grove of aspens, quaking,

beginning to feel    transluscent   

shifting  self-induced smokescreen

an expanse of copper sea

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: jaher06/Pixabay

When the snow falls (Day 754)

It’s like this  when the snow falls

each flake a tiny bird  silent

sinking from an oyster sky 

to sip from a pearl-white bowl

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: Sarah Cavanaugh

West Winds: A Tanka for Day 753

West winds tease lovers.

Full beauty skips and leaves spring.

Midnight overflows.

A blue columned path murmurs.

Slick angels loom and stones burn.

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: Pixabay

It won’t be long (Day 752)

Cellophane sunlight

thin and clear

crackling   infused 

   with hints of spring

Graphite trees   sketched 

on a hyacinth sky

awash with feathery clouds

And   from the woods

birdsong keeps promising

It won’t be long

It won’t be long

It won’t be long

   

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: Julian Onderdonk. Early Spring—Bluebonnets and Mesquite (1919). 

Oil on panel. Via Wikimedia Commons