Down at the Alameda
Down at the alameda We shook hands,
Laughed, Told stories, Then laughed some more, Until we forgot.
It was the place Where life happened unconditionally, Where leaves found their rhythm In errant breezes And paused to collect A tear or two;
Where I once found a shell With ridges decayed Punctured with a tinge of lust That tickled the jaws Of feral plum seeds Stripped of their memories And spewed forth From the mouths of happy beasts.
Art: “The Garden of Essai, Algiers” Pierre-Auguste Renoir