Classic Poem

Are you asking where I'm going with these sad faces
and the bubbling of wounded veins on my forehead?

I'm going to cast roses into the sea,
to vanish under waves higher than the birds,
to pull out roads that by now had burrowed through me like roots ...

I'm going to give up stars,
and dews,
and the brief rivulets where I loved the passion that ravaged my mountains,
and a special cooing
of doves,
and words

I am going to remain alone, without songs or skin,
like the inside of a tunnel,
where its own silence goes crazy and kills itself.