Memory-Lost Moon

I confess I’ve lost the tide’s old rhythm,
my silver fingers no longer seek your skin.
I hang suspended, a forgotten coin in heaven,
without your mirror that returned my face.
Once I knew the language of the shells,
where the breaths of salt are hidden deep.
Now I speak to currents unknown and weary clouds,
and gulls fly over me as if I were foreign.
I am ashamed not to recognize my trembling reflection,
of having erased the paths carved through my nights.
I search for wave maps in sleeping cities,
finding only stone voices that cannot sing.
I admit I wish a receding tide would call me,
that the sea might redraw my name.
If you return to kiss the edge of my circle,
I promise never again to forget your memory.