#192 Untitled

The harsh sadness of the heavy rain accentuated the air’s ugly black hue.

We should never stoop down to delivering lectures,

lest anyone think we have opinions
or would confidescend to speak with the public.

This is not my love; it’s merely your life.

I close my slow and sleepy eyes,

and there’s nothing in me but a lake region
where night begins to replace the day on the shimmering
dark-brown surface of waters in which seaweed floats.

May our love be a prayer.

For a moment we are the universe’s pensioners,
recipients of a steady income,
with no needs and no worries.

—Urban Accursio, O Palrador