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Not far from San Ignacio
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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