an almost full moon

she slips away
to Baltimore. a slow drive,
her hands
on the wheel,
sunglasses perched,
prim and proper
as always, her map
leading her
down 95. after window
shopping, and lunch,
she finds the time
for church.
for kneeling,
and prayer, offering one
for you. bundled
tight
she walks alone
past the moored ships,
the cobbled stone,
feeling the glow
of an almost full moon
bright as silver
in the cold harbor air.