They say you left your house just once
in your last fifteen years—
you slipped alone through veil of night
to see a new-built church.
And rumor says the moon was full
when you escaped your walls—
you had no need for candlelight,
the evening led you well.
Tonight round shines the Hunter’s moon—
so dazzling is the dome
that all the world feels like a church
and night itself a poem.
Perhaps that’s what you understood
and lost your need to leave—
each room, each place is holy
and has a gift to give.