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Perched precariously on the summit
Of a mountain: breathless.
It rules over its domain,
Broods over the landscape -
An unforgettable presence.
Does it miss those who built it?
Does it miss the Inca of centuries ago?
The Intihuatana stands alone,
The temples bare;
House of the Virgins empty.
Do the very mountains
Mourn their loss?
Do they miss their priests,
Their kings, their people?
Does the condor flying over head -
Symbol of the world of the gods -
Long for those who would have saluted him?
The tourists that flock to see
The echoes of past glory
Cannot hope to see what was there once -
The majesty of Machu Picchu,
Diminished but dazzling still.

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