Boto
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  • When in her fiery nights Yací wakes afraid
    Boto transforms
    in warrior and invades her bed. The voices suffocated
    in the dark, grows the silence, serpent he furls up
    and wraps round her body
    Little by little rises sinuous, caresses soften
    the harshness of his scales.
    Rising through her long hair saying: my love
    Is stone, is water.
    Where is his nest? Sailing through leaves
    arched cypresses reaches it in delirium,
    taking her breath away: cloud she, pulp of mature fruit,
    savage odours and colours.
    Thoughts without meaning exalt her body:
    her senses seven leaps of a lascivious cat,
    interrogates herself, thinks, sobbing in the her braids.
    Yací embraces his gilded thighs.
    From afar does your river begin Boto.
    In discord deep looks intertwine,
    She looks for strength in her viscera.
    The nails lacerate the hips, the legs, the back of Boto:
    Vendetta yearned for.
    Listens to her name whispered by him: Yací.
    Without remorse Boto wounds and she melts.
    Looks for him in the nights without rest,
    in the following days he arrives unexpected.
    He appears and she becomes elated.
    Horses, nests, birds, butterflies,
    wood, mountains, branches, spheres brooks
    Boto half water
    half fish and half man.
    When he loves he reaches the river’s bed,
    rides swept away by the waters,
    floods the shrubs between the islands.
    Yací clasps the scales in her arms
    Fish that flees, taste of water and fruits of the sea
    Boto, fish salt-sun-salt. Life. Breath.

    Márcia Theóphilo – 1985
    English version by Hania Kochansky -1999