Truce

The sea places a shell upon the pedestal
upon it are imprinted the laughter of fishermen
and the salty taste of hands that grasp the world.
The statues bend their necks and whisper names that remain casts.
They exchange stories like smooth stones; the sea tells domestic tempests,
backpacks left hastily on the piers, words that sink and return;
the statues bring back steps stolen from time, a forgotten scarf,
then they return to silence, guarding a memory borrowed.