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Bring me again to the edge of the sea
miles past the end of the hard road
to stand at the tide line
in the cries of seabirds and wind,
the erasing, replentishing tide
sighing on the chest of the sun,
dreaming of the moon,
a deserted beach
where a man can cry and no one will see
if he remembers how to let go,
the sea helps with that,
the surf effervescent,
the swells' rise and fall,
the running collapse,
the merging of wave and sand
leveling mountain and sea,
tide of perpetual change,
and who can say
I will never hold you again
under the live oak tree ?
—with two lines by Octavio Paz
