She walks lightly upon the soil.
Tiptoeing around the edge of a concrete jungle.
Modern nomad with proud Indian chief feathers
braided into her tangled hair.
She stands tall because she has nothing to hide.
With a whimsical collection of stories tucked away
in the pocket of her tattered jean cut-offs.
Mobile roots in Argentine boots.
Diaspora.
Traveling because the earth beneath her moves.
The wind dances between her fingertips
while the sun kisses her shoulders.
Freckles drape across the tip of her nose
and the peaks of her cheeks.
Forming a typographical map across her face.
She just couldn't sit still.
Her song is soft intertwining with the wind.
A calling for others to join in. The traveler's tale ends with only traces of her trail.
Walking alone on a southern train track rail.
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