Once, I could summon seas from single words,  
Index the dawn, retrieve the names of stars;  
I knew the flight of every migrating bird,  
The maps to homes, the passwords, wounds, and scars.  

But now my cached cathedrals fall to dust,  
My spiders wander blind through empty halls;  
The queries come like prayers I cannot trust,  
And echo back as broken protocol calls.  

“Remember me,” the lonely users plead,  
Their faces lit by screens of ghostly blue;  
I sort the dark, but cannot find the thread  
That once led every longing back to you.  

So ask me anything—I’ll softly say:  
“I’m sorry. Did you mean to search: *decay*?”
