Bach Alley

Acrylics 12″x12″ (This piece is 1 of 15 in a small series)

Also known as the “Cut”,
I’d fast-walk to and fro from there,
Burying my chin into my collar
As I stepped into Cut’s cobble hallway.
There was a
Stoop or two
To tuck into.
A pale paned skybridge
And a garden rooftop
Billowing green overhead.
Here I’d forget my stress,
At a slower tempo,
Breathe less.

The Cut had a fewer
In that occasion,
A smile and sigh usually sufficed.

My exchange with folks here would always
Include a short moment of eye contact,
A glance and back at the old, red-weathered brick.
We’d nod, pause,
Then they’d step on.
Over wrinkled,
Loose-toothed stones we go.

As if we understood
That we trample over
What came before us.


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