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The water flows into the desert at a steady rate
away from the Andes revealing the pinks and blues
I thought only possible from the sky
the three clouds that exist in the desert hang low
over the salt flats in the distance,
deceivingly close

A bird my mother refers to as a “pip-pip”
uses its long beak to drill into the mud
searching for life
finding none, it flies away
as if taunting me
waiting for my turn to touch the sky

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