I often stare into the sky at shadows on the moon,
with my attention fullest on the days of the full moon.

Discerning craters, mountains on its dusty pockmarked face,
that glows when sun stares winking flares upon the blushing moon.

I squint to find the waveless flag, the rover parked somewhere,
discarded by the shiny humans come to greet the moon.

Her light gives sight so subtle as to soothe and not disturb
circadians whose radians are rhythms of the moon.

Tree silhouettes' slow pirouettes sway by the summer breeze,
bathed in the sun's own afterglow under the watchful moon.

Imagining the lunacy of werewolves in the night
who, bathed in glow, to dogs they go a howling at the moon.

While all around the nightsong sounds in symphony they croon
the ballades of the wonder of the lighted sky queen moon.

(C)2013, Christos Rigakos