It wasn´t Monserrate

but we were high enough to feel loved.

Below, Bogota´s eight million little, smiling mouths

bounced the sickle moon off their gold-fillings

and thus described El Dorado

to our thankful eyes.

Pictures were hard to take

but nonetheless taken

and even if they´re never seen

the huddle and the hugs

justified the fuss.

No prayer flashed through any mind

much less passed through any lips—

horses led to water

don´t necessarily drink.

But sometimes it´s just the scenery that counts;

enchanted by the current,

the horse need only watch

to feel refreshed.