Face pressed to the glass
Out of fresh blue painted steel
Clattering on polished rails
  through fields untouched by time

Sunbaked straw bricks, packed with clay
  drawn from the tumbling muddy morning river
Stand in neat rows, awaiting orders.

Trackside, the lazy cow stretches her neck –
  just a little,
Contemplating. Is that toothsome bit of green
  really worth moving for?

Beyond: her calf in the corn,
  prancing havoc
With hell to pay at dinner
For brother-sister, who instead
  chase each other around the unfinished walls

All in a moment,
  and then they are gone.

Or rather, I am.
This is Peru – they have been here for a thousand years
  and – I must believe – always will be.

[Actually, we just got back home now, after a pair of uneventful but hellishly long flights from Lima->Miami->SFO. Whew.]