Under a Baltimore City moon.

Full moon, low and plump,
Positioned for a long night,
With starry dust,
A city’s summer ends, long overdue.
Fall’s pulse beating,
A quiet port sits,
Sails hit, “Clang, clang…”
In twos, fewer than in June.
Train whistling from afar,
A mix of chill with warm southern air,
And a hint of humid dew.
September wind,
Runs through,
Fells Point,
Kissing my cheek,
My bare arms and feet.
No, I can’t let go.
Church bell tolls,
A trumpeter’s last Miles Davis blow, my,
Kind of Blue,
Across rowhomes and cobblestone.
Between smoke stacks, and,
Buildings old and new,
Less busy boutique or two,
You will hear in far echoes,
The hoist speaks,
“Clang, clang,” in twos.
Still and embraced, under lamp post lit,
Young lovers in twos.
Faint laughs of friends from,
Long ago, and maybe new.
Only a few passing time on piers,
Catching vibes, thieving romance,
Maybe falling in love, too, sharing,
Pistachio gelato between two.
And, me, I imagine you.
Billie Holiday, Lady Sings the Blues.
Yes, I think of you,
Under a Baltimore City moon.

Love poems and solitude.