In Chile there are condors, cold waters on the shores
There are vines reaching wide and tales of ominous folklore.
There are rocks that don’t know rain beneath a canopy of stars
that shine from one corner to another, 2653 miles apart.
Volcanoes gaze over lakes, themselves watched by a mountain range
that stretches like wispy hair across a map tainted with bloodstains.
How lush is Chile’s country! It’s bursting from the seams
with melons the size of children, and daily bread, eggs and cream.
Santiago is a bloated whale beached in the sea between,
the spawn of Chinese Whispers and born of its many dreams.
The mountains bleeding snow, watching from the start
above people erecting fences, just barbed-wire tips apart.
