Spaces Between (Day 604)

Elastic sky, rain-stretched
clouds drawn groundward, 

air roaring, spaces between 

drops fewer and smaller,   

until we, after only a few yards,   

are soaking wet and shivering,   

no longer running for shelter—   

what would be the point? 

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Nicolas Vigier/Flickr

Each blade of grass a story (Day 603)

Each blade of grass   a story

each paving stone   a poem

knitted of lichen & moss

punctuated by five-petaled

sky-blue flowers   so tiny 

they defy the eye of anyone 

who fails to stop & stoop 

over their miniature bower   

(only a select few ever do)   

& so   the stories & the poems 

go largely unnoticed   content 

in their role  delighting 

(mostly)   artists   & amblers  

& the patient companions 

of slow-sniffing dogs  

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Pixabay

Short & Sweet (Day 602)

bearing down                on goodbye

from the south              tasting of buttered pancakes

wasn’t that the way      she always liked it

the storms fell               short & sweet

like dominoes or           like popular songs

so it seemed                   urgent & forgettable

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Pexels

Elided (Day 601)

Hours like November trees   

denuded   silent   invisible 

sidewalks coated with answers

like gaudy rings 

on knobby fingers

a moth in the darkness   

I am unmentionable

my most joyous years  elided

now  quiet as a cloud   I exist 

in the passive tense   shouldn’t I 

have a name   wouldn’t I have 

etched traces of myself 

into life’s rough surface  

or maybe it is supposed to be 

enough to dwell (unnoticed) 

in the shadowy depths 

of a willow-graced stream

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

When I want you to know (Day 600)

now   when I want you 

to know   your eyes 

slide to the right 

you are gazing 

out our window   

but not seeing

what I see 

how   when I want you

to hear   can I reach

across this room and

all those years   too many 

words   fall   silent

on your distant shores

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Porovuori/Wikimedia Commons

Marking My Horizon (Day 599)

Now I   away   intense 

heart remembering smoldering 

   words with which we parted

and you   a floating light   jewel-like 

buoy marking my horizon 

      appearing     disappearing   

consumed by secret rifts 

  in a not-so-placid sea 

  warm as June peaches   

ripening on a sun-blessed tree 

   at the farthest edge 

       of our wilding orchard

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: PxHere

Warp and Weft (Day 598)

Singling out the silver  sky   

wine droplet crystallizing in 

the bottom of your glass   forgotten   

a mirror-room where people leave 

when you enter and enter 

when you leave   cushions undented   

covers unmessed in that upstairs bed 

where we lay   each woven in 

the warp and weft of the other’s limbs   

cries of migrating geese filtering

down from the graying overhead

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Pixabay