In 2012, during a rather strange trip to Goa, I found myself alone roaming the churches of the old city, one after the other on a particularly hot afternoon, even though it was December as far as I remember : I have a fever and I can’t trust my memory : and at the Basilica of Bom Jesus, after taking many, many photographs (most of which are lost now) I entered and stood almost in disbelief that I was standing inside a 16th century building : even though I have been inside many 16th century buildings : that on this ruined earth it was still possible to enter a poem.
A little outside the altar, I lit two broken candles.
Later, at a café not too far, I ordered a beer and stayed there for some time wondering,
what
I don’t remember.
Beyond Six Rivers 