Aisling of the shore, moonlight braids your name,
silver waves recall the pulse we used to share.
Salt on my tongue, peat smoke in the air—
your laughter drifts like gulls across the dunes.
I cast a shell, each ridge a year I’ve waited;
the tide answers in your voice, low, unabated.
Come dawn I’ll walk the rim where sea meets sky,
tracing every footprint you left behind.
In the hush between two heartbeats, I still find
the promised kiss you wore within the foam.
Aisling, return, the restless coast is home.