Once upon a time, the moon wore your name,
silver threads stitched through the hush of the dark;
we walked where the sea forgot to be waves,
leaving footprints of salt and spark.
Your laugh was a lantern, swinging low,
painting ghosts of tomorrow on the café glass;
I kept the last drop of 3 a.m. in my pocket—
it still smells like grass and almost.
If clocks rewind, listen for the soft chord
under the ribs: that’s the story we never closed,
humming itself awake, once upon a forever.