The Brazilianist Magazine

When God’s lonely path passes through a traveling sky
It lights up the night’s pallor with a gloried dye;
Cold but cheerful over the Pocono Mountain shrouds,
In rapid receding strides of Greyhound’s passing clouds—

The mind’s whirr of the wheel flies to the times of yore,
Hungering after the comforts of an unforgettable lore;
Plays anew the stage over many an indelible smile,
With the moon for company and the past for a while…

A pace philosophical moves our time-bound waves,
Wading through the crevasse of soul-soaked caves;
Sees the shadows we left upon those distant lands,
Beckons the unfading scene of love’s comeliest hands—

They gave not a single sign, pressed not a frozen wish;
Now revered in pure awe, in lofted chambers we cherish.
They bore our secret hearts and beat our unknown pulse,
Glued in graven charms, why suppress their lows and lulls?

The moon ‘s crystal window couched on a silver fleece
Shakes the images awake of memory’s penitent peace...
As cities and country slice thru’ human ribbon beams,
Watching the rising fortunes, glowing on soiled dreams—

Of the thousands of journeys between borders, hearts and voices,
A million more others could have composed our hardest choices--,
But the nomadic heart that sleeps not, hinders not its cruising wings,
Fonder still of those bright moon paths, where our treasure still sings.