These are the people born from the ocean. Their blood
came from salt. Their veins have floated
between wigs of seaweed and funguses of basalt.
their mouths opened within the remote forgetfulness
of the seashells. Memory is the deserted shell
the rolled sandy boulder on the cliff.
Generated maybe between the sickly calling of the wales
and the semblances of the ships. Because these people
(re)cognize themselves between sand and sea
in the precise moment that the rock
and the body touch each other and love
And that is why fish swim
trough our eyes
they travel between us and us and the certainty
of the body.
These, the people of the island de João de Melo in On a Leaf of Blue