hand-powered     for John Paul

we are without shirts.  our ribs, unshared.  

     you lift a mud flap to recall small stones
from a frog’s belly.  


light     for Noah

you write quickly in the dark.

we know better
than to love
the room.


advice for a kind of passage*     *for Jacob

invent only
what you
remember

the blank face of a blow up doll beneath a numberless clock.

a sleeping bag outside of a boy.

two brothers rumored to have nursed
at the wrists of their father
to reach the same
high note.

     gripping a rolling pin with both hands
my mother on the tin roof of a neighbor’s shed.  

a dove circling a church bell
to elude the crow
it was.

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

Life doesn't stop,
even if you don't know
how to keep going.

Everyday I still have to
wake up without you.

In Dwimordene, in Lorien

Seldom have walked the feet of Men,

Few mortal eyes have seen the light,

That lies there ever, long and bright.

Galadriel! Galadriel!

Clear is the water of your well,

White is the star in your white hand

Unmarrred, unstained is leaf and land,

In Dwimordene, in Lorien

More fair than thoughts of Mortal Men.

To Flammifer of Westernesse.

I shall go to the Mountains
and play my guitar
in the rocky spine of my land
and sing to the provinces
like ex-lovers.

I shall go to the Mountains
as the trees bronze over
and stand there,
sharing their lonely.

For a while.

I shall go to the Mountains
on an errant without fear
and hold myself very tightly
shiver in the waxing October light.

You have no idea
how much I've changed!

I got tired of being broken,
so I fixed myself
and added a patio.

Oh, my cherished-
If I could give you him
I'd wrap him in picnic plaid
Like the gift he should be
(I know you'd like that)
And I'd tie him to you by
his tweed and sheepish smiles,
so tight that you'd turn into
a Great Ancient Tree.

Darling, if I could
shake the demons out of your forest,
I'd holler at them in a pentatonic fury
and bend them from your nation.
(With air. Not fire)

My Siamese twin,
connected at the heart,
If I could give you the world
I'd carry it to you
like Atlas
though I'd have to work on my long distance running.
I'd do it for you.

I'd do it a hundred,
and bring you all the jam ever jellied.

We are the cities,
old and new alike.
We are the buildings:
skyscraper or condemned.
We are the windows,
glinting in the sun --
broken and *****.
We are the streets,
   intersecting,
some winding down
to the water's edge.

We are the civilizations
ancient or teeming --
shining on golden plains,
or laying in decay.
Edifices rising
and temples fallen.
We are the gods of the mighty
and the lowly.
We are the triumphs,
we are the tragedies.

We are the cities...