Trees traverse these fragile years
beetles fill the deepest cracks
shallow boles hold resting birds
in silhouettes of carbon black.
etched on pine are scripted words.
calligraphy to ossify
while half aloft the whitest ash
coats skeletons that hold the sky
bone fingers held by stubborn will.
The undersoil plans in secret tongue
to climb and cover this scaffolding
of branches with new banners hung
while none divine what time will bring.
seasons will bend, painted in their way
a shifted hue for each, maybe.
For now, the trance goes on
as roots comingle and conspire
in close wet earth to speak of green.
Copyright © 2022 Leah Jay
All Rights Reserved
Leah Jay moved to California in 1976 and spent her adolescence in a remote mountain house, surrounded by forest. Over decades she watched the California she knew change, degrade, and burn. After the CZU lightning complex fire in 2020 she was thankfully able to move her family to the Pacific Northwest. Surrounded by surviving forests she continues to create art and poetry works as prayers to the interconnectedness, sacredness, and fragility of all life during a time of intensifying ecological collapse.
Featured Image: “tanglewood”, art © Leah Jay – leahjayart.com
Editor: Barbara Harris Leonhard
Amazon Best-Selling Author
Three-Penny Memories: A Poetic Memoir, (EIF-Experiments in Fiction, 2022)
Pushcart Nominee, 2022
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