The Smiles of the Statues

In my breast the wound opens again
When the setting stars are kinsmen of my body
When silence falls under the footsteps of men.

These stars sinking into the years, where will they drag me?
The sea, the sea, who shall exhaust it?
I see the hands which beckon each dawn to the hawk and the vulture,
Bound to the rock which sorrow has made mine,
I see the trees which breathe the black calm of the dead
And then the smiles, which do not move, of the statues.