I don't know who will blink first, the ocean or the
sky,
I don't know if the wind will ever grow weary of
drifting,
...
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A most moving poem, Jorge. Can't wait to read more. Sometimes one's flight is upon the page, a stand-in for the sky and the heart - still, it is flying more the less...so, onward, East to West. Best, Warren
It is you