This afternoon it rains as never before; and I
don´t feel like staying alive, heart.

This afternoon is sweet. Why shouldn´t it be?
It´s dressed in grace and sorrow, dressed like a woman.

This afternoon it´s raining in Lima. And I remember
the cruel caverns of my ingratitude;
my chunk of ice on her poppy,
harsher than her ´Don´t be like that.´

My violent black flowers; the savage
outrageous lashing out; and the glacial distance.
And the silence of her dignity will brand
the final period with blazing oil.

That´s why this afternoon, as never before, I walk
owl-like, with such a heart.

And others go by, and seeing me so sad,
they sense a little of you
in the craggy furrows of my deep misery.

This afternoon it rains and rains. And I
don´t feel like staying alive, heart.

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