Arrival at Santos
Here is a coast; here is a harbor;
here, after a meager diet of horizon, is some scenery;
impractically shaped and — who knows? — self-pitying mountains,
sad and harsh beneath their frivolous greenery,
with a little church on top of one. And warehouses,
some of them painted a feeble pink, or blue,
and some tall, uncertain palms. Oh, tourist,
is this how this country is going to answer you