Across the plain of Alentejo
a railway track snaked its way
as far as eyes could see,
merged with a blue haze yonder
and it was New Year’s day;
which began with clear sky and sunlight.

Later soft rain fell
and tall grass grew so fast
that the track disappeared
and we were left wondering
whether a train would ever come,
or if there had ever been a train going our way.

Should we continue on the same old road
that had brought us here,
where the sky is immense,
farm houses low cling to red soil
and people in dark rooms
still believe in a vengeful God?