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Not far from San Ignacio

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Not far from San Ignacio,

the Amish homes sprout brown and musty

like mushrooms from the earth.

But all the walls and people

are in a constant battle with the mud that smells

like sour, oily skies.

And I think someone should tell them

that beyond their fences that grow like weeds and stretch like tendons,

there wait toucans and jaguars.

And the men grow sugar cane,

their beards as wild as the jungle all around that threatens

to swallow everything up.





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