Mystic Mango
Down a steep path,
past the nylon laundry line,
I found Him -
ancient and craggy and no longer bearing fruit.
I swung, for a spell, from his outstretched arm.
I sat on his shoulder and nuzzled his neck,
nodding to his constant companions,
the lizards
who dart
and freeze
and strike with tongues.
We called the guada grau
and heard her call back.
Then she circled above, just once,
before disappearing.
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