Wednesday, August 10, 2016

On Leaving Taquile




Twenty-one years of wind 
Blows many things away.
I come back thinking, 
By chance,
I may step back into a time and find you here,
Waiting.
Where islands are not filled with tourists
And we still take small boats on the lake.
But you are lost to me.
Carried by the currents, 
Taken by the wind. 





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