Flying to Cusco
Through the cloud the hills begin to ripple
Ochre, brown, crisp golden crests and
Path strings wind to tempting cols.
And then, beyond, in startling white, the Andean
Crests rise up in brilliant monochrome,
Their tips tickling the clouds which form
A softer, bulbous landscape above
The black angled edges,
While below, gorges sink deep,
More sharply carved by diamond streams
And contour wrinkles hint at human sustenance.
A summit wrestles with the clouds
Jagged tops wreathed in smothering mist
A stark white field of snow
Drifts and ridges,
Encircled by a bouquet of mist.
