Exiles

The Argentines I have met
live in exile,
They didn't want to leave
and now they don't want to stay.
Men, women, children without a country,
but two passports.


Migrating between continents, hemispheres,
balancing the need for carnal bread
with the thirst for spiritual, sacramental wine
they drink from the chalice of the Buenos Aires night.

Perpetually leaving/arriving,
more akin to Jews than Gypsies,
having never lost
the internal heart compass
that always points
home.