In The Drift

She lies back

until
from shore her canoe looks empty,
like driftwood
winding and bobbing
in the wrinkled clear water.
She stares up
into the bold blue background,
admires scattered wisps of white cotton.
Her perfect peace
is interrupted only by the soft
bump
bump
bump
of the smooth gray rocks beneath her,
and the pointed
tap
tap
tap
of the determined woodpeckers above her.
She closes her eyes,
lifts her arms and places her hands
around the smooth wooden edges
of her sliver of hope.


Copyright Hope A. Horner, 2013. Use with permission only. Contact author on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/hopeh1122 Follow on Twitter @HopeNote

Peek

Peek

She peeks
over the mountain
down the ravine spotted with chapparel
palace palm trees
cactus patches
purple jacaranda
knotted pines bent at the waist before proud oaks.
Her eyes dart like black phoebes
over red brick roof tops
through baked adobe archways embraced by scarlet bouganvilla.
She waits,
silent and white like cotton
for the sun to grow tired and retreat
so she can make her descent
settle in for the night
belly nested in the sand
cuddling the sailboats in the crooks of her arms
stretching her nose
out over the sea
to peek
over the horizon.


-Copyright Hope A. Horner, 2013. Use with permission only.
From Word Windows Poetry: http://www.wordwindows.blogspot.com
Contact author on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/hopeh1122
Follow on Twitter @HopeNote