The hoatzin’s guttural hisses 

Carry intermittent ripples in the fabric, 

Interleaving the shimmering dark waters 

With the rhythm of faint percussion 

From the pitch-black forest.

She summons the trees to flutter

And ease my eyes into the night

As she reveals the Milky Way —

For me to slipstream that weave.

A star bursts into an estrela-do-campo  flower, 

And the sunrise emulates

Its shape in pink-orange rays.

Crackles of evaporating mist rise

From its surface in the morning heat,

Reverberating its essence

Across the mountaintops

To awaken the butterfly.

The stellar scintillation from the flower

Pierces the morning melancholic veil

Adorning the entire valley in its soft hues.

Stars shine in hexagonal bursts

From the butterfly’s eyes of compassion,

As she teaches me the rhythm

Of unconditional living.

I stare up from the drifting boat, 

In the glare of those starbursts

Haloed in the hoatzin’s bloodshot gaze—

To witness resonances unravel

All constructs of boundaries.