Trout (Day 408)

Overhanging branches  speckled brown as trout 

by months of unfiltered sun and lingering 

drought   spring-fed streams   cold 

and clean on the surface   water of many 

rivers   flowing warily westward   rising 

through narrow 

chasms of  

tumbling 

boulders

swiftening under bridges built 

when mystery veiled the moon 

then 

spreading out 

into the ease of a broad delta plain.

Looking down-river   watching 

water-spiders float effortlessly on the taut skin 

of a deep-plunging pool   shady niches 

harbor insect worlds and coarse bits 

of upstream-stories drift past 

tell tale rings on the green-black surface 

where fish rise to kiss the air

and all of this will help 

you see

and all you will see 

in all of this

is an iridescent flash—a fish darting 

into shadows in front of 

or behind rocks or submerged fallen trees—

swimming impossibly fast   like a dream

disappearing before your eyes 

because they spotted you 

before you 

were able to lure them with the subtle bait 

fastened on your glinting hook.

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: steinchen/Pixabay

Her White Whale (Day 389)

shaking her head at the modern world’s distaste 

for promises, she vowed instead to pursue her 

White Whale deep into the indigo mystery

to that end, eyes wide open, she dove headlong

into an icy pool of stars, and broke the surface 

again in a shimmering burst of breath and water

later, sinking into the multi-layered depths of midnight,

she found herself wondering if she wanted to 

awaken from the liquid solitude of dreamless sleep

but a ghostly fluke, like mermaid hair, beckoned, 

and she leaned into the sweet awareness of loving

the precious freedom of being neither here nor there 

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: iwona_kellie via Wikimedia

Haiku for Day 380

bourbon-amber world tilts

sliding down that coffee-sweet glass

in crestfallen octaves

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Roger Peterson, US Forest Service

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

Mirror (Day 292)

Shivering mirror

petals punctuate 

each breath  rising

and subsiding

rippling outside-in  

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: AdrianKirby

Some Days Are Like That (Day 290)

Some days are like that 

special stone, gleaming 

like a gem among 

the shattered shells and 

flabby mats of kelp—

the one you plucked 

from the sand, and held 

out in your cold hand 

for my admiration, before 

tucking it in your pocket, 

for luck. Now, dry and

bleached, it lives deep 

in my dresser drawer, 

surprising me sometimes,

when it appears in my 

cold, outstretched hand, 

so far away from home.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: Isle of Skye, FrankWinkler