Somewhere, fishing boats
sway on a placid harbor
a column of vultures
wheels in a glassy sky
fed by glaciers, a creek
bisects a wild meadow
and the world is
about to burst
into bloom
doubling back on itself
again and again
a gravel road climbs
the air is soft
the ocean warm
and time itself
is patient
all this, somewhere,
but — today —
not here.
© 2020 by Hannah Six
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