ESA POEMA E DEDICADO A BOSCO

Bosco flapped a T-shirt in its face. The anteater stood
Up on its hind legs, hissing like a surly little white-
Bellied man, before scuffling away into the bush.

The second night of camping was easier than the first.
The caiman kept their distance. Our sleep was fuelled by
Caipirinha, heady fumes warding off evil spirits.

With Fred and Emilie, Marseillais, we used four tongues to
Dissect a continent. Bosco said that what matters in
Tales of his country is not what’s told, but what’s omitted.

Bosco, the Pantaneiro, who took us across the threshold of his
Home, a home the size of France. Who made urban fears seem foolish,
Teaching us how to swim beside piranhas; they will not bite.


the pantanal (somewhere within) 26.09.04