Hot Air (Day 318)

Reclaimed by that hot air

Our cool rain enriches the clouds

Fertile land grows arid

Their vast dams newly reinforced 

Water will not trickle down again

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image via Pixabay

Against a Buttery Sky (Day 276)

Above the orchard, tall 

trees against a buttery

sky, sating my spirit’s

deep hunger, portending 

umber flanks 

of gourd-round hills,

a pasture dotted 

Heaven, northern dusk 

fog-sheltered need, 

won as we cried for more, 

but by dawn, still and

you should see 

where, small and fragile, 

it lives on in me.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: racorvese

Who Knows? (Day 132)

 

Who knows if the lilacs bloom, still, 

underneath my childhood window, 

or if that glass itself remains in place?

Who knows if the fossils fall like rocks 

onto the beach from the face of 

the sandstone cliffs, shells closed 

around their ancient secrets?

I am not so very old—not old at all, 

in fact—but the world that I grew up in

is long gone.

And sometimes when I think of it, I mourn 

the loss of silence, and the world 

I live in now, well, I mourn for this one too, 

maybe more so.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

They Talk Backwards (Day 129)

Photo courtesy US Government 

they talk backwards and upside 

down in an underwater way 

that makes wind chimes shiver 

and sends a chill down our spines

so shameful we shrink from 

their lack of embarrassment 

is arrogance the same 

as confidence do you think

dear world please don't hate 

all of us we pray but we know 

that their spilled ink has 

stained our fingers too 

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

The Places He Does Not Know (Day 57)

The places 

he does not know 

      are no less real for 

his incomprehension, 

but this will 

      not always be 

so, and I long 

      for that day 

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six