In country fields on starry Autumn nights,
I call your name, and listen to the breeze,
to catch the whispering, among those lights,
that rustles in the leaves upon the trees.

Just barely do I hear their murmurings,
and translate utterance of twinkling fires,
in hopes the skies have heard of all the things,
pertaining to the one my heart desires.

I call your name and ask but every star,
where have you gone, and when will you return?
My eyes glance to those lights both near and far,
to answer me before they fade and burn.

At times the ones we love, most sorely missed,
are those whose lips our own have never kissed.

(C)2014, Christos Rigakos