our wedding album
shoved into my hands
her memories
wiped off the shelves
to start a new collection



(C)2014, Christos Rigakos

her shriek
as a millipede on the wall
is crawling
up and down her rubbing arms
the thousand legs of goosebumps

(C)2007, Christos Rigakos

her words
i'll remember
"i'll love you forever
and never will i stop loving
never"

"never
will i ever
want you again ever
even though i said forever--
never"

her breath
evaporates
her words are breath to me
not to grasp but inhale and dream
of them

her words
exist no more
not carved in stone nor steel
not bound by worth or earth, but by
my thoughts

(C)2002, Christos Rigakos

he swore
he didn't have a gun
"Kurt Cobain"
etched in stone
on this songless night

(C)2001, Christos Rigakos

his laughing voice
filling my ears
the memory of him

(C)2007, Christos Rigakos

hospital sheets
laying crumpled on the bed
my father



(C)2012, Christos Rigakos

i am the sun

that rises from its nightly earthly grave
propelled by hope to find her love in skies
unmasking galaxies for their disguise
his mighty queen, pursued by lowly knave

and finds but empty space littered with stars
its solar flares upon its face but scars

descending then it falls into the sea
and drags the heaven's colors to the floor
its light extinguished through the closing door
in dying for a spell will cease to be

i am the sun

(C)2012, Chistos Rigakos

i dragged the blade across my skin
and bled the pain away
the curse that flowed around within
no longer had to stay

i huffed and could no longer feel
if i was still alive
and asked for beatings hard and real
to help me then revive

my face had blackened here and there
i morphed into one dead
i had no time to eat my hair
had left my waning head

in time i withered like a leaf
as autumn did arrive
and knew just by the weight of grief
my corpse was still alive

but one day as i sat in bed
and found an empty pad
i wrote the tale of my life's dread
the mourning of the sad

i cut the forms of letters there
the pen unstopped had bled
the curse into the morning air
and i would live instead

(C)2019, Christos Rigakos

i find myself at rest, lain sickly prone,
a broken figure in contorted pose,
halfway in mud, my head beside a stone,
an unintended consequence i chose,

at last the bottom of this deep ravine,
thrown from a cliff when reason found its way,
i tumbled down a path i'd not foreseen,
i now await my healing as i lay,

o'er shards of flint and glass, o'er cobblestones,
was i dragged furiously by one who fled,
so flesh did lacerate round breaking bones,
and blood spilled wildly, i should have been dead,

yet my sweet's chariot my hand released,
she rode off to the west, i rest in east

(C)2012, Christos Rigakos

I find myself...
mesmerized,

by family photographs,
whose subjects all are...

dead...

the great aunt smiling,
frozen in mid-song,

the little boy squirming,
in her lap,

the tabby cat on the floor,
watching them both
intently...

all eyes looking,
frozen in mid-stare...

their actions,
frozen in mid-time...

those very vibrant,
living loves...

gone...

forever


(C)2014, Christos Rigakos

If I should pass away before you do,
knowing your heart is free to love again,
the torment of that thought would carry through
the grave to life beyond my mortal end.

If you should pass away before my eyes,
knowing my life is void of your sweet love,
my life would be but death in life's disguise,
spent seeking you in empty skies above.

'Tis best if our eternal love had life
eternal, spent eternally in birth,
or that neither your husband nor my wife
should know a moment spent alone on Earth.

Life's but a fleeting moment winding fast,
that we should spend as if it were our last.

(C)2006, Christos Rigakos

If I were sure you'd take me back I would
delay myself to ask instead, would I?
Rethink the question, not as would but should!

I would have once done everything I could
to stand again before you eye to eye,
if I were sure you'd take me back.  I would

have climbed mount Everest and stood
upon that peak that scrapes the clear blue sky,
rethink!  The question, not as would but should

I then return to that once happy 'hood,
that turned its back the day you said goodbye?
If I were sure you'd take me back I would

examine your once vibrant heart turned wood,
to analyze your once hot blood gone dry,
rethink the question, not as would but should

believing good turned bad can turn to good
bring joy once more or turn again to sighs?
If I were sure you'd take me back I would
rethink the question, not as would but should.

(C)2013, Christos Rigakos

if you had died
i could have kept your love
and bronzed your memory
like little baby booties on
the mantle over the fireplace

instead you lived
and ran with love away
and left me with an urn
the ashes of your love
whose form i can't discern


(C)2001, Christos Rigakos

i have no eyes to see nor ears to hear,
no speech beyond my teeth or any breath,
i'm dumb for lack of thought in front or rear,
and paralyzed to stillness in my death,

so by enchantment i am moved to ask,
do ever you adorn my stone with wreath?
or is even a wreath a burdened task--
a limestone needing pulleys to bequeath?

and if no wreath, are you yet moved to haunt
this resting place to whisper to my mound?
or does this too remain a task that daunts
you to refrain from passing by around?

i often wonder if my plot still yields
a headstone or the mark of potters field

(C)2012, Christos Rigakos

I hear the colors waving in my thoughts,
with yellows rising, reaching to the white,
and falling grand arpeggios to blue,
then burying to violet and black,
beyond the grave of my perceptions—gone.
The undulating rhythms flickering
like candle flames of solemn holy mass,
an everlasting birth-rebirth of life
in rampant earthly sprints that, to and fro,
arrive and leave like those we’ve met and known
who’ve disappeared and now simply exist
in just such thoughts, as colorful and vain.

(C)2004, Christos Rigakos

i knew a girl, not well, but i
          knew well enough to be
a floating cloud upon the sky
          when need arised to see
if some temptations had the gust
to move her into someone's ******
          and as it were i rained into the sea

(C)2013, Christos Rigakos

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

ineffable the moment of one's death,
between the final beat and darkness....
when consciousness takes notice of no sound
within the chest while fading into numbness,

yet moreso inconceivable is then
the moment of the numbness into dark,
before that step into oblivion,
when final thoughts yet feed upon a spark,

the final thought, the final one indeed,
its ending more precisely mystery,
its closing, its transition where it leads,
into no thought, nor zen, no more to be,

since none are dead who ponder on such things,
to those who live no understanding rings

(C)2012, Christos Rigakos

Inquire not of me, nor of my life!
     All knowledge, by instruction, is withheld.
     Our blood line cut, your kin no more my wife,
     your right to know by your own hand dispelled.
Your silence had you ousted from my heart,
     when I besought your most beloved names.
     Your hush kept me at bay, and us apart,
     as I sought you, my son-ship you disclaimed.
Now if perchance a thought of me has raised,
     please quick extinguish it and mind me not.
     Why resurrect the ghost of one you've razed
     upon your kin's request, and made as naught?  
True love, when born, has immortality;
when false it lives only conditionally.

(C)2018, Christos Rigakos

insane, i boxed the snarling dragon's snout
and bruised its lips, bruised knuckles on its teeth
i struck its eyes above and chin beneath
it snarled and growled, i punched it all about

my desperation vanished quick all doubt
without a mighty sword, even a sheath--
to slice open that throat just underneath--
just ****** flurry storm with thunder shout

i pried open its mouth, my damsel there
much deeper in the throat this time around
i reached and pulled her out past snapping jaws

how often must i raid this dragon's lair
to save one who in dragon's mouth be found
so frequently delicious with her flaws?

(C)2012, Christos Rigakos

inside the groove
of a headstone's engraving
a wandering ant
learns the name
of my grandmother

(C)2001, Christos Rigakos

In someone's mind there is a place of graves,
And farther still a darkened potter's field,
Where loved ones in memoriam are saved,
And those whose names should never be revealed.

I blow through iron bars and paths 'tween stones,
To find the carvings of my former name,
Which mark the resting place of my dear bones,
And date the finite years of my life's fame.

More anxiously I blow into the field,
Instinctively the farthest place most dark,
Where frost and ice have most securely sealed
A single mound without a numbered mark.

I reach for bones I can no more disturb,
Discarded far enough to not perturb.


(C)2014, Christos Rigakos

oh hey, what's up? I'm your next interview!
What's that? Oh yeah! These are my favorite jeans,
you know the ones so comfortable, they're you,
so ripped and faded, comfort seam to seam?

No way. No wearing suits, that's not my style.
My hair? I like the messy look, why ask?
My favorite show starts in a little while.
Could we get on with this, speed up the task?

Your company? I haven't heard a thing.
Don't you guys sell, like, thrifty shoes and socks,
and bells? Oh, closing bell! The one they ring,
the floor, you're trading with the Payless Stocks!

Yeah, no. I don't know anything 'bout that.
I'm anti-corporation anyway.
But hey, you want to see my brand new tat?
I show it off at every gig we play.

I don't know spreadhseets, Word or Powerpoint,
but my new iPad's got those Angry Birds,
and I can show you how to roll a joint.
Hey, where's the bathroom? Got to drop some turds!

Aw, ****! It's out of order, you should know.
Oh sorry dude, that silent smell's a ****.
I think I'll get a mohawk, let it grow.
I'm hungry, are we done, when do I start?

This Monday? Are you kidding? Yo! High five!
Oh, wait, I'm going fishing with my girl.
How 'bout next week, whenever I arrive?
I'll celebrate my new job till I hurl!

I'm glad you like my honesty, that's fair,
to give more guys like me an equal chance.
My laid back mind's a breath of fresh new air.
and honesty's a virtue at a glance.

When I come in I'll do the best I can,
with all the missing knowledge in my head,
the many skills I'm lacking in my hand,
and all the bad production you all dread.

I'll see you when I see you Mister Boss,
I never asked your name, who gives a ****.
There's something on your lip, is that lip gloss?
Oh, wait, you're not a dude? Oh, sorry ma'am!

(C)2012, Christos Rigakos

I oft' remember him with what he wore
at home, so often in his leisure time,
those cutoff sweat pants and those dull grey socks,
and right away I see him sitting there,
the corner of the couch, the one at right,
a dinner plate upon his lap, so full,
Lo Mein with beef and rice, duck sauce on all,
a burp, then slapping tummy, sounds are made,
oh, why won't he do anything again?
what would I pay to have him back again?
to hear his laughter and his joking ways?
the memory, it fades into a snap,
as I am jolted back to here and now
where absence sits alone on this here couch
and I can only call him in my mind.

(C)2007, Christos Rigakos

The seed is in the fruit, indeed,
     the fruit is in the seed.
For what is it that grows from it,
     by coding that it reads?
And can it be a different fruit,
     if to this code it heeds?
It is compelled by code to swell,
     before by birth it's freed.
And as the seed becomes the fruit,
   the fruit's indeed the seed.


(C)2020, Christos Rigakos

I send her roses each and every day.
     She asks for reasons, they don't satisfy.
     This heart's expression is my only way
     to answer each and every question, why?
She plants each one inside a large glass vase.
     It fattens in its bulky green-red width.
     She waters it hourly just in case
     this bulk shrivel by one rose-breadth.
In truth they have no petals and no stem,
     no color and no subtle fragrant scent.
     The vase is her awareness of them.
     They are but words of love my passions sent.
For I am but a poor and broken soul,
whose love for my dear love raises me whole.

(C)2019, Christos Rigakos

I stand upon a precipice
and stare into a dark abyss
where subtle echoes faintly stir,
whose source's bright and warm allure
has brought me here with puckered kiss
for one whose soul I deeply miss
and if I fall into this hole
together we'll again be whole.


(C)2009, Christos Rigakos

It's ten degrees under the morning sun,
imagine coldness buried underground
where all he lays in is a suit undone,
in darkness where, to roving eyes unfound,
he could not grumble even though he would,
and ask to those who love him up above,
a blanket or a hug if but we could,
to warm the heart that always shined with love.


(C)2009, Christos Rigakos

i've sculpted marble into her image,
a statue, flawless, down to each detail,
her beauty true and that of mind in scrimmage,
her replication filled with much travail,

upon the sight of it in its completion,
i gasped when i beheld its perfect form,
and to protect this object most like Grecian,
i built a temple 'round it for the storm,

one day, as i prepared my veneration,
i found her in the temple stumbling drunk,
and sharing with another my oblation,
unsheathed his sword and deeply in her sunk,

oh, never build a temple to a mortal,
for she'll escape to heaven through that portal

(C)2012, Christos Rigakos

i wax nostalgic as I pull my hair,
as they have always come, again they're here,
my friends, they sit like corpses and they stare,

lamenting how my life's been most unfair,
while quivering and lapping up my tears,
i wax nostalgic as I pull my hair,

and as the follicles from skin I tear,
they hush their tongues, in silence lend their ears,
my friends, they sit like corpses and they stare,

how long have two lone brothers been a pair?
how much was shared between two hearts most near?
i wax nostalgic as I pull my hair,

yet how much can these friends of mine more bear?
i've burdened them with pity year by year,
my friends, they sit like corpses and they stare,

fatigued of me, yet one day more they dare,
to sit with me, for one more tale to hear,
i wax nostalgic as I pull my hair,
my friends, they sit like corpses and they stare

(C)2009, Christos Rigakos

i wish, i wish, i were a simple fish,
that spends a thoughtless life in salty sea,
is hooked, and fried, and ends up on a dish,
deboned and sliced to pieces silently,

for i have been too human-like for me,
and cry out salty rivers held by dams,
for losses that, to fish, would never be,
with words upon my inner teeth enjambed,

yet if i were, the salt would grow by grams,
the sea in saltiness would **** all life,
before the fish had any chance to scram,
avoiding death to live with heavy strife,

for all my tears in water'd be unseen,
fish mouths agape would know not why they scream

(C)2012, Christos Rigakos

I write you letters, since we speak no more--
a thought, a feeling, written once a day,
my letters grow in piles before your door,

since your departure, I have missed you more,
and more with every single passing day,
I write you letters, since we speak no more,

your absence makes my heart much more adore
what filled your current void, I've much to say--
my letters grow in piles before your door,

from habit, all the daily news I store,
and wait until the chance when I can say,
I write you letters, since we speak no more,

yet why do I?  There is no reason for
the writings I embark on every day--
my letters grow in piles before your door,

The plot-keepers refuse to ever more
place letters on your now much settled grave,
I write you letters, since we speak no more,
my letters grow in piles before your door

(C)2010, Christos Rigakos

he died in 1946
          his ghost somehow lives on
the echoes of his mental tricks
          have stayed though he be gone
and when the man was still alive
to make his master state to thrive
          he'd pen bad economics with his song

he'd split his time between his song
          and whispered recreation
for though his wail was mighty long
          it ran with innovation
he'd bring a promise of a toy
then ****** boys to bring him joy
          and scoffed at hints of fiery damnation

(C)2014, Christos Rigakos

I knew a lass I did not know too well,
a church acquaintance not too close a friend,
of which we shared harmonious a spell
on Sundays, this became a steady trend.

One day I passed a knick-knack in a store,
a coffee mug just like a camera lens,
and thought, a fitting gift one slightly poor
could relish on his shutter-bugging friends.

And so I grabbed the knick-knack, paid for it,
on Sunday told the lass of what I'd done,
surprised, she deemed it inappropriate,
rejecting it, of this she would have none!

How good intentions sour so easily,
a new acquaintance quick unfriending me.

(C)2013, Christos Rigakos

they came to Earth to take us all away,
the few of us who'd make a new beginning,
who had the mark to save us from the Day,

through whispers into children's ears would say,
the dates when Death's visage would show up grinning,
they came to Earth to take us all away,

who have our innocence, the rest would stay,
who lost it in a sea of ****** sinning,
who had the mark to save us from the Day,

the visitors would show them bleak and gray
foreshadowings the Sun would sure be bringing,
they came to Earth to take us all away,

yet no requests of those who'd strongly pray,
could stem the tide that'd stop the Earth from spinning,
who had the mark to save us from the Day

could, with a pebble in the hand, go away,
and find ourselves upon a new field, singing,
they came to Earth to take us all away,
who had the mark to save us from the Day

(C)2009, Christos Rigakos

last night I took a stroll within a dream,
a slow procession through the dirt path aisles,
within her cemetery's mindful stream,
in search of my name carved in stone or tiles,

i'd almost missed the marker to my grave,
cold winds half-covered with forgetfulness,
no epigram was carved to hold and save
my memory, entombed in nothingness,

two bookend dates to mark my history--
when we were born and when we died in love--
my name, two words containing all of me,
a marker quite unseen from up above,

now from this stroll i've surely learned a lot,
to not inquire of what her mind's forgot

(C)2013, Christos Rigakos

let's run again before we have to leave
let's take the time to do just this one thing
our time is very short, you must believe

to run our hearts will beat, we'll have to breathe
and life will course through veins, and lungs will ring
let's run again before we have to leave

let's run and wear our hearts upon a sleeve
and tie our hearts together with some string
our time is very short, you must believe

all races end, spectators then will grieve
as long as we do run, we'll fly with wings
let's run again before we have to leave

the end of things will come, we'll be bereived
why waste our precious time on empty things
our time is very short, you must believe

let's run the paths that always interweave
where hearts beat through the breath that living brings
let's run again before we have to leave
our time is very short, you must believe

(C)2009, Christos Rigakos

like chicken in tomato soup lain still,
one arm protruding off the bathtub's edge,
red water steaming, still at edge, none spilled,
and 'neath her chin a pill-less bottle wedged,

her forehead, raven hair, an island forest,
in a sea of calmness sought and found,
a chaos turned to peace, its calm attests,
now what has sunk beneath will meet the ground,

and as the soup's released into the drain,
her paleness, wrist cut red, and kitchen knife,
exposed to all, her face relieved of pain,
yet not enjoyed, devoid of sensing life,

that torment, plagued her soul with agony,
now transferred to her grieving family

(C)2012, Christos Rigakos

like times we sat in silence and we stared,
i come once more to share with you the sky,
we face each other, both our souls full bared,

i sit upon a stool and bravely dare
to do what's sorely missed, and with deep sigh,
like times we sat in silence and we stared,

i watch you 'neath your covering, so scared,
unable to speak out, though hard I try,
we face each other, both our souls full bared,

you watching me past covering, unbared,
we both look past each other, in mind's eye,
like times we sat in silence and we stared,

the words not spoken when we better fared,
are spoken now upon the growls of cries,
we face each other, both our souls full bared,

how precious, little time of moments shared,
is realized only when it's bid good bye,
like times we sat in silence and we stared,
we face each other, both our souls full bared.

(C)2008, Christos Rigakos

An unseen force has plagued the Earth at last,
     And shuttered man, and cleared his busy streets,
     Unlike those unseen forces of the past,
     For homes have now surpassed all man's retreats.
In New York City's heart, Third Avenue,
     Congested with Taxis, buses and such,
     The silence and the breeze are all so new,
     To few masked 'Yorkers, distanced not to touch.
Yet love abounds throughout our pestilence,
     Yes, there are still some swelled, afluttered hearts.
     Their masquerade is made with diligence,
     And tantric love is made six feet apart.
Those lovers not yet quarantined in homes,
Stare longingly like new masked garden gnomes.

(C)2020, Christos Rigakos

love was the heart loud pounding in the ears,
and beating out the chest, it longed to be
enjoined unto another many years,
and these, the only things, it craved to see:

the goodness in one's heart, the gentle eyes,
a kindness radiating from one's soul,
a charity unspoken, undisguised,
it sought to join with such, becoming whole,

today love seeks the guile which one could say,
the suits of status, trinkets sparkling bright,
the methods of the wealthy plied by day,
virility cold practiced in the night,

oh, love, which once probed oceans wide and deep,
you've run aground upon a shallow reef

(C)2012, Christos Rigakos

there are those certain ones, those special friends,
they fall down from the sky, like white snowflakes,
that land upon my nose and tongue, and melt,
that chill me, wake me from complaceny,
and melt my heart to water, falling rain,
our time together short, so very short,
and gone, they leave a sore and open wound,
which nothing filled, could fill or ever will,
just holes, i'm full of holes, i am a hole,
come one, come all, come more, come fall some more,
and tingle my dear nose and tongue and heart,
and make me live and die again, again

(C)2012, Christos Rigakos

mother cries
over again
her son's name

(C)2007 Christos Rigakos

The mourning dove--it casts its shadow long,
from windowsill, along my bedroom floor,
black sprawled across my bed until the door--
it fills my ears with morbid sighing song.

Throughout the day on paths I walk along,
it sits on bare tree branches up on high,
and sounds aloud its four-tone lonely sigh,
its presence ever-subtle, ever-strong.

And when I then return from where I've roamed,
in my so vain attempts to daily flee,
where I realize there's no escape from me,
the mourning dove, it greets me when I'm home.

Perched on my windowsill, within my sight,
it starts once more its melancholy song,
and casts again its shadow growing long,
that blends into the darkness of the night.

(C)2007, Christos Rigakos

Alice In Chains embodies my soul,
complete reflection of my toll,
their addiction, and my addiction,
same in pain and all affliction,

Drugs for them and love for me,
equal in savage dependency,
taken away from us, we tremble,
I and my Chains, in this, we resemble,

In howling minor keys they play,
matching my feeling, enhancing its way,
expressing with lyrics so concrete and cold
the burning blackness of our broken soul.

(C)1999, Christos Rigakos

With water, malt, and yeast, and hops I dare
to craft an odd new ale with full due care
I've aged in hickory and old oak jugs,
and serve a round in handcraft German mugs,
to all the patrons drinking at this pub,
yet most just sniff and snortle up a snub.
Instead they order shots of foam-frothed ****,
imbibe and guzzle to their drunken bliss,
then slur a slew of sloshed-up limericks.
And to my ale they kick against the ******.

my daily regimen, focused, intense,
a pugilistic kata of the tongue,
in preparation for our oral fence,
run laps around ideas, expand lungs,

my visualization of that day--
we spar with strikes and parries, counterstrikes,
in reasonings' most ****** kumite,
my verbal knuckles down her oral pikes,

so armed with good reasons to reconcile,
arriving at the place where she should be,
she proves to be so much more versatile
absent, my wasted versatility,

i cannot win with passion or with rage,
a lover's heart which simply won't engage

(C)2012, Christos Rigakos

my eyes
like puppy dogs
follow you everywhere
happily hopping
tongues hanging
tails wagging
my eyes are yours
and you walk them
on a leash.


(C)2000, Christos Rigakos

my love and i, while pondering one's death,
          and counting all the ways which one may die,
discussed what happens after one's last breath,
          exhaled into the void of empty sky,
discussed the many ways a man may go,
the best and worst of ways which we both know,
          which do allow or stifle one's goodbye.

she asked, just playfully, how i should die?
          i thought of it, and i began to say:
"i'd shrink to four inches and here i'd lie,
          and you'd just walk and go about your day,
and as you'd come my way, you'd spot me here,
with gladness and without an ounce of fear,
          you'd step your heel and crush me on your way."

with furrowed brows she asked me then, "but why?
          of all the many ways you'd choose this one?
and why choose me to cause your life to die,
          i'd be to you a weight so many ton?"
"because," I said, "how fitting it would be,
that my dear crush should crush the life from me,
          as every day her loveless smile has done."

with eyebrows raised, quick lowered, she agreed,
          she understood i understood her well,
in truth her selfishness was fueled by greed,
          unhidden, she admitted this to tell,
"it's true, i have not been a dear of late,
and for you i no longer palpitate,
          so i'd agree to end you with this spell."

"please let me know if you have found a way,
          and to your wished-for end i would oblige,"
she answered, clicking heels she walked away,
          i watched her shoes slam down and quickly rise,
in sync to my own heart this heartless lass,
who found me lacking, of a lower class,
          had spoken truth concealed within her eyes.


(C)2013, Christos Rigakos

I travel nightly to and fro on windswept sandy dunes,
and watch the far side of the moon, for it won't face me here.

I hear the Mourning Dove start sighing meloncholy tunes
in morning light, which starts too soon, and always finds me here.

I ponder life so quizzically, and contemplate the rhunes,
for I must never ask the Moon, whose silence chills me here.

Behind the glowing clouds that veil the fine majestic moon,
the bride awaits beloved groom, as I stand watching here.

"I am your mate, have you forgotten, my dear silent Moon?"
"We are a single flesh, in tune.  Why have you left me here?"

"Your face aloft and turned away, to stars you wail and croon,"
"and seek your other now lost Lune, while I am waiting here!"

Her farthest edges faintly glow. I'd pay to watch her swoon,
to my heart's rhythm late in June, yet I'm imprisoned here.

My chest, that swells by what I knew of times our love did bloom,
deflates remembering its doom, and I am stranded here.

"Too high to reach, in clouds cocooned, my far beloved Moon,
return to me on Earth and soon, or find my bones still here.

(C)2020, Christos Rigakos