And I Always Search
And I always search
for the first love:
in the summer’s rainbow,
in the call that never lit me,
in every month of the year.
In what mystery was it born,
in what place was it blessed—
perhaps beneath the stars
that pass like lightning,
or in the imagination of the moon’s light?
In the forgetfulness of myself it appeared for a moment,
and in madness it was eclipsed…
Transformed herbs
lead me
into a blue abyss:
“Calm down!
Oh, dear, your hair has turned white…
Poor you!”
Yet we are rarely alone—
like laughter
in a tragedy.
