I leave with pockets full of rivers,
with the scent of mountains
folded in my shirt.
Exile, forgive me —
I will never stop carrying home.
From A Poem A Day: Latin America


I leave with pockets full of rivers,
with the scent of mountains
folded in my shirt.
Exile, forgive me —
I will never stop carrying home.
From A Poem A Day: Latin America

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