I’m searching, I don’t know what it is that I search. I’m searching

for a sky from the past, for a twilight that passed. How lower

is the forehead meant for the heights of yore!

I’m searching, I don’t know what it is that I search. I’m searching

for auroras that have been, gushing, lighted

fountains - today with waters tied and defeated.

I’m searching, I don’t know what it is that I search. I’m searching

for a big hour that’s remained in me without life

like marks of a mouth on a long dead carafe.

I’m searching, I don’t know what it is that I search. Under yesterday’s stars

under the passed, I’m searching

for the extinguished light that I’ve always been preaching.