Poetry

Moon

The moon drips its pale milk

across the sea, a slow shimmer

that pulls the night open. I stand

at the edge of the world,

where water whispers secrets to stone,

and think of you,

how absence hangs like salt

in the damp air,

how distance is a wound

that never heals but festers

softly under the skin.

Your name tastes like the silence

between waves,

the rise and fall of breath

I can’t catch,

the cold kiss of wind

that keeps me waiting.

I wonder if you see this same moon,

its face tilted down,

its silver cheek brushing the horizon.

I wonder if you feel its gaze,

the way it touches everything