Beach Fire (Day 328)

Freighters’ lights, like stars,

glimmer and swim

in the distance. Between swells, 

they fall from view. Our eyes 

track their progress, instinctively

seeking their reappearance

each time they drop into vast 

watery valleys below the black 

horizon. Watching driftwood burn,

we feel the cold sand dampening.

Nearby, waves tumble and hiss,

closer now than before. The tide 

is turning. We must go.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: Aris_Tsitiridis

Under the Weather (Day 323)

Ears ringing like 

a copper kettle: 

Tea time! But no

one is boiling water.

Aching clouds settle 

into bed beneath 

drifts of dreams, 

of coral sand 

and oceans so bright

they hurt your eyes.

One sighs to think

of such things.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: Pixabay

The rain, the sturgeon (Day 226)

In the rain the sturgeon wake,

and loll on their cushions of silt, 

whispering about the nervous 

flutters of oncoming winter. 

Fog-stilled boats drift amid 

reflected hillsides, outcrops 

dotted with upside-down sheep 

and leaf-brown streams boring 

into their emerald faces like 

unchecked tears. There, we, 

revolving, hearts stilled with 

wonder, listen to the slowing song 

of two crickets on opposing shores.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Late Pears (Day 221)

Late pears drop through 

branches and leaves  landing 

with muffled plops on 

overgrown grasses  rotting in 

the sun  drawing bees and 

hornets to sip delicately at 

trickles of hot syrup  

soon leaves slip off trees and 

ships rock  creaking with truth 

and frustrated eagerness  

slickly filtered through a veil 

of midnight smiles.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six 

Image: KRiemer