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

Vivid (Day 597)

vivid oak, inspired lines etched 

on a blue September sky, vibrating 

in the thunder-scented breeze 

or dressed in your autumnal cloak,

benevolent, your splendid shade, 

extended arms embracing delightful 

June and dancing, unclothed, 

beneath November’s heartless moon,

like butterflies, your bright leaves 

pause and tremble in my dreams, 

filling the air with liquid whispers, 

secrets cloaked in some mysterious 

tongue, unspoken for a thousand years 

(or more), rending my heart with 

gentle, furrowed sighs and 

ancient soporific lullabies, then lightly 

tossing off the cloak of night, greeting 

the day fresh-faced and unadorned

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Castrocielo Lazio/MaxPixel

Looking in late at night (596)

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Jagged Edges (Day 595)

this day, 

   like a broken glass,

edges sharp and jagged,

   tears at the fabric 

      of my disbelief

and renders me 

   incapable 

of anything

   but the deep silence

     found only at the bottom 

of a pool

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Art Anderson (CC BY-SA 3.0)

via Wikimedia Commons

Haiku for Day 594

Trembling frozen light.

Smoke and thunder taint the air.

Sun-bleached windchimes pause.

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Jina Lee/ Wikimedia Commons

Dimming of the Sun (Day 593)

The sun went dark today,

and not a soul noticed.

A filmy black veil drifted,

unseen, over careful autumn 

light—gold as honey, and 

drowsy as midsummer. 

No one remarked on 

the quiet shadows, 

fluttering like prayer flags 

in an oven-hot breeze. 

No one squinted into 

the afternoon’s flat glare 

to discern the source 

of treeless shade. 

Nor did anyone pause 

to gaze upon a sunless field 

beneath the cloudless sky.  

Only I, it seems, was trusted 

with this secret, was blessed 

with this knowledge and, 

like a Hollywood hero, 

determined not to cause 

a deadly panic in the streets, 

I chose to remain quiet, 

to serve as a silent witness to 

the dimming of the sun, while, 

around me, holiday-makers 

played on, blissfully, perhaps 

intentionally, unaware.

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six