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.
Goodbye enchanted island, golden door.
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