She was an Art Historian from Costa Rica
And had never learned to ride a bicycle 
Now she was in Brussels for her studies 
Not for sprouts 
I asked her if she was safe 
But she never replied 
'Wish we were high up in the mountains' 
I said 
And closed my eyes 
Thinking of the Cerro de la Muerte 
From the city of San Isidro 
The mountain of death 
The summit of death 
Chuckling at the thought
And the irony of self isolating there 

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