translated by Jessie Kuhn

Gone the makers of suns and moons

the builders of tombs and temples

vanished the gods on the hills

and the men lost in the night

only a starving dog roams the empty street

all the hunger of history in his belly

and all doors closed to his passing

Who   following him down the Causeway of the Dead

passing the ghosts that hover in the afternoon

between serpents butterflies and birds

to break into the space of the phantom city

won’t arrive for ever at our destiny?

Here   where temple was raised upon temple

and man upon their ashes

here at the western edge

where priests and centuries plunged to death

where the Fifth Sun has to sink into earthly night

our own dull daily sun still shines

The gods dead and their works undone

at last the centuries become words

ruins ravaged by sun and wind

and man in his agony

doesn’t know where to lay his head

nor what voice to lift against death

while through the desolate valley

no on passes

but the most elusive of gods   the air