A poem by Sandra

Free Flight

My fingers, over
your hard surface, touch
the lines where your dry
stones are tightly joined—
Inca ashlar, without
mortar—seemingly
extraterrestrial.

All the green spaces
between you become
my breaths as much
as the cloudless sky,

as my body without wings
maneuvers on air, views
you like a camera's eye
zooming in, zooming out,

and I know, my tour
of you is unattainable
through a tourist trip
as I awaken with your
impression still on me
Machu Picchu,
more than a lucid dream.


© 2008 Sandra Mooney Ellerbeck

Please click here to read the above poem on the Leaf Press site where it was published.