Then we came later inland
through the frilly cordillera,
chilled by the knee-deep torrents
and chaffed by the wet spray
and scraped skins of alpaca,
slipped through the paths
of printed shale footprints
and reached a shimmering desert
that mirrored our dry salvation.
The emerald dead whom we carried,
we entombed in a barrow of promise
which we rose from the sand with sweaty hands
under the pitiless grin of a parching sun.
Above the barrow we erected many blades
painted red and black in memory of oars
which we used to pierce the drifting sky
in honor of the Beauty of Pachamama.
When the silent crows blackened the outskirts
we gathered our kit and left in silence too.
Please remember what we were like
before the others came.