Be this the place? To write nonsense and fill the face,

With tropical wonders from inner space? Gondwana, I wanna know this place

Sixty million years ago. When these Mountains were fountains of youth.

When the lizards were long in the tooth. Tall stands of araucaria,

Chomped by dinosaurs long dead. The thought of it

Circles my head. These Mantiqueira mountains, subtle as they are supreme.

Precambrian, basement rock. Holds me in some kind of dream.

Vaqueros riding bareback on horned brahmins, with ease.

Like Shiva on Nandi speaking Portuguese.

Dripping foliage, so nice. Birds borrowed from the garden of paradise.

I want to come back here in old age when these old ridges still breathe young.

And the light is zen. Falling in stripes of every shade of green among

overcrowded flanks. Avians, insects and plants teem while i give thanks

For every shape and form of creation, Nature’s glorious freak show,

Surging as one in rhythmic vibration. As it was sixty million years ago.

The view from my widescreen window

Is falling sunlight, where everything will grow.

Even at night. Little signs of humanity. Dotted red tiles amid the growth spree.

Cool rising above the burning plains, That’s what’s best. Cool breeze along the veins and up through the breast.

Mountain folk living in the now, clopping hooves, playing pool topless, chillin on a cow.

Mantiqueira. What can i say? You inspire without words

Each and every day. Cicadas chirring, palm fronds shh-shhing, the whistle chorus of birds.

And me, just being.