Husk

You left me in the shallows,
half-drowned, lungs full of silt.
I am the remnants of something holy,
a cathedral stripped to bone.

Your voice was once a lifeline,
a tether between earth and sky—
now it lingers like distant thunder,
too far to bring the rain.

I call out, but only silence answers.
The ocean does not return what it takes.
And yet, I stand at the edge,
waiting for the tide to recognize my name.