The fazenda farmhouse is tacked to the riverbank opposite.      Last night the quarter moon rose, lifting it into the sky. Plotting tribal wars or hegemony, after midnight      the howler monkeys shout orders back and forth across the river. All morning the river rocks suck up heat through the jade green straws of the reeds. Grateful for the summer clouds, the afternoon      inside the afternoon, nodding in its blue sheets. I kindle all day, building up my little heat.      By day's end I'm a torch; I quench my flames in riverwater. Moon splashed, the iguana dreams in its tree, lightning puckers the rucked sky to the east. Bats hustle insects in the afterglow;      the oatmeal sand looses its heat, as I loose mine. Saturday night, stars shined up, Kid Abelha on the      stereo...fish bones on the shore.