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by Judith Tullis

A souvenir trinket
dangles from a chain
around my wrist
a tiny basket
wrought in gold
a charm that opens
the massive door

to another continent
full of shaggy llamas
wearing silver jewelry
where Quechua natives
in bowl-shaped hats
play on reed pipes
haunting music

that echoes aloft
on the wings of condors
over the sacred place
of peace and power
the mountaintop
called Machu Picchu

leaving a message
in the rarified atmosphere
of my thoughts that despite
the footsteps of many before me
it waits dreamlike
for mine


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