Each evening the sunset tours depart,
fishing skiffs scuffing the flaming sea.
The hills across the estuary melt into the sky.
We see them from the picture window
five floors above the doorway
where skunk passes from hand to hand.
Through an open pane we hear wheeled cases
scurrying on cobblestones.
The sun sets itself in the mirrored dome
of a quayside church.
Two birds roost on the weathervane.
Things come in pairs: we travelled together,
unsure if we were sunset or dawn.
Now, you chop, I stir, we pour wine and eat our dinner.
Tomorrow there will be breakfast on the terrace,
and we’ll pretend not to spy on our neighbours,
then, after walking all day,
watch the lovers sailing into the dusk.
Hannah Stone has two collections published, Lodestone (2016) and Missing Miles (2017). She convenes the poets-composers forum for the international Leeds Lieder Festival and co-edits the poetry ezine Algebra Of Owls. In other lives she grows her own food, enjoys hill walking, and is managed by two cats.