A Dreaming Sky (Day 466)

If the sky is a dreamer

what does that mean 

If the clouds are new

is this the same sky 

I used to look at 

the way children do  

the way I am  a dream 

the heavens are having   

gazing into the blue  

beyond which sailboats 

floated when I lay down  

decades ago  except 

those clouds are always 

coming and going 

without saying goodbye 

to one another   

The stars have had time for 

many dreams  So while I lay 

on my back  in the grass 

they are sleeping

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Sebadelval/Pixabay

Blue (Day 351)

blue 

blew through me

I knew the underside

of a frozen stream 

seeping through the sky

where its seams were 

still unfinished

new

I knew the rhythm 

of your blood 

inside the landscape 

of your veins

a pattern barely realized

yet recognizing my disguise

left you somehow

diminished

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Mt Rainier at Sunset, NOAA Library

The hills are strangers (Day 325)

The hills are strangers

gaudy and frank  imagined 

off the map   seekers on 

a pilgrimage from the known 

world to lacey September light   

weaving strong magic and 

casting wanderers from 

the golden shores of better 

days  lonely Bohemians   

savorers of clementines   

keepers of valentines in small 

rosewood boxes  walkers 

and seekers who never seem 

to finish unpacking their books 

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image via PxHere

Indulgence No.4 (Day 233)

it helps

to flood the stage 

with protest

like hearing every side 

from the wide clear skies  

of my late 

summer 

autumn  

falling  we went out 

undisguised  sweated  

and when 

we came home 

feeling angry  vile  

riled like 

a snake   

an unexpected freight train   

like the days 

of warm rain beyond 

the bruise-green clouds   

we had a precedent 

for the day 

of the storm 

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: Free-Photos

Angels Admitted (Day 222)

In these hours of fascination 

the mountains, running north 

to south to north, have had 

the uncommon good sense—or 

imagination—to admit angels. 

Not to be left out, watery realms 

from oceans to streams also 

extended gracious invitations, 

but leave no doubt about it:

it was the mountains who 

started the trend. Now, when 

the very air seethes with wishes 

and threats, an angel on bended 

knee, can be found in every puddle, 

on every street corner. Do you doubt 

the truth of this? Then drive beyond 

the clipped seams of your cities, 

into a rolling countryside on a cool 

autumn morning. There, in the small 

valleys and gullies, where creeks trickle 

and rivulets flow, you will see, with 

your very own eyes: angels rising 

in ribbons from the earth, and 

on the hushed air, their misty sighs.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: CGCowboy