It is the night of the sinking moon. Against the fire's glow, we three make a mountain range on the sand.
It is the end; the place where the embers join the stars. We dance with the sea and the sea dances back.
Tomorrow, i will say goodbye to the chirping coqui, to the coconut and its hard shell, white flesh and pure juice, to this beach i have walked every morning, to the old man with his blue pale and white net who stares out, searching.