A few years ago I found myself in a small cemetery outside the tiny town of Caspana in the Atacama Desert of northern Chile visiting the grave of the mother of someone I had recently met.
Under a bright blue winter sky we told stories, burned some coca leaf, and poured wine into the parched desert soil. As it soaked in, I thought of all of those named and unnamed whose time had come and gone, and whose souls were now scattered across the years.
After watching some of these Poems in Motion, I've been
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