Tell me:

At what point
does the water
stop seeping
in a cupped hand?

  The seashells
  stop whispering
  the tale
  of Alunsina?

And the ocean
stop pushing and pulling
    itself to the shore, 

like the hands of a man
         reluctant to stay and
         let go?

Because then,
and only then,

         do I dare 
         let go. 

(for the future)

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