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

With tropical wonders from inner space. Gondwana, I wanna know,

the place sixty million years ago. When the 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 (pronounced MAN-CHI-KEYR-a),

Mountains, subtle as they are supreme.

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

Vaqueros riding bareback on horned brahmins. With ease

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,

Over a crowded hillside, Avians, insects and plants teem.

A milliard form of creation, nature’s glorious freak show

Surging. Fighting to be clear by a neck, as it was

sixty million years ago. The view from my widescreen

Is falling sunlight, where everything will grow.

Even at night. Little signs of humanity.

Under tiles, Red dots amid the endless green.

Let nature just be. Rising above the destruction,

Living in the now, resting on the back of a cow.

The Mantiqueira.

Let this nature be, into every era.