by Leah Jay
sometimes I forget that I am a woman,
morning sun returns to the valley
river between thin and silver
a thread stitching forest to range
the curves of oak-dotted hills
swell to embrace the light
girdled by white fence posts
twisted with barbed wire
fields of green & brown & green
crop circles forced into fertility
long pipes stretching out
into rusted standing water
and then I remember.
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Leah Jay is a creative polymath, environmental activist, Soto Zen Buddhist, and President of the Village Gallery of Arts in Portland, Oregon.Her poems and paintings are prayers to the fragile sacredness of all life during a time of intensifying climate instability and ecological collapse. Learn more at her website.
Sensual images for rejoicing
Dynamic and smooth!! I love the way you smear images together
Thank you Leah.
A lovely way to begin the day.
Thank you Leah. Nice to begin the day with beauty.
I say this every time Jean graces us with a poem. I so wish I had the gift of verse.