The Condor's Back
Clouds at my feet; the condors back glistens in the misted light below. We glide, he and I, through the steaming cauldron, oblivious to the villages hidden below.
by Jane Brunton
Far beneath me slides your disappearing majesty. Sad, solitary one; your mate’s the victim of Indian sacrifice. Your children are in zoos. Hated enemy of the poor, whose scrawny sheep you carry off. The enveloping mists obscure you like a shroud.
(near Puyo Ecuador,1998)