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.