For the seeking

For the seeking

By Jana Kleinschmidt

The stag calls to the moon 

and the moon calls to the

ocean and the horizon bends.

Look down.

Look down.

Don’t you see?

It is right there.

Dewdrops on night-silver blades.

A forest floor of feathers, crawling

to get under the skin. Don’t you

understand?

    Look down.

Look down.

It’s cold, up here.

Look down.

She is in the softness between the leaves.

Do you understand the shimmering webs?

Do you?

You are in them. Take them with you, careful.

The stag calls to the moon

    and the ocean

   and the horizon.

Call to her.

Call to her.

- Will she answer?

- Will you seek her?

One day, in the deep trees of the mind, 

will you find a meadow? A glowing pit, 

hearth to the curious -

I hope the ember will be fresh.

I hope the red and orange 

turn to you in whispers, 

I hope the ocean hears its call, 

and stills.