Intrinsic Places
In this recurrent memory, the lagoon – of
a pale umber-like dark, mysteriously lapping against the old wood
rotten walls - is my bed, my comfort, my immaterial frame where my
body unknowingly rests and tides.
It is past now, years after departing, I
realize how omniactive she is. Her brackish waters flowing
underground, disseminate the river and the sea, the mountain and
Moon's arms, delivering an addicted imprint to walls, books, clothes,
faience and to the people.
As a child, I watched often, other bigger
boys jumping from the bridge into her depths, thinking why would they
do it if the bottom was a meter thick layer of sludge. I used to
dream of walking on that viscous mixture, burring my self to the
waist or just swimming during the flow.
Nothing came about - there was always the
sea.
Some say the lagoon immures the city, but I
think she teases us to become one and the same.
©
2015, José Eduardo Coelho
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