By David L. Andersen. Architect of Lapa Rios

The road we didn’t build
Lies deep in the forest
It winds past the shaman’s hut
Where worlds merge into darkness and light

The river we didn’t cross
With our cancerous bridge of civilization
Runs swift and clear
With the perpetual rains that cleanse this earthly place

The language we didn’t lose
Is of a gentle people
Who do not know of us
And our wasted lives in an artificial world

The people we left alone
Didn’t hear our missionaries
Or wear our cast off clothing
In place of their rich past

The tree we didn’t cut
Did not become our coffee tables
Or concrete forms
They remain as guardians of this special refuge

And so they continue to be lost to us
Even as we speak
Our words die in the vastness of green
Where life continues
Near the road we didn’t build