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