Between the tree and the man, the Alliance dates back to the dawn of time. The trunk of a tree, like the forehead of a mature man, bears wrinkles, the traces of his passage on earth. A man does not die, he is reborn in another place. A dead tree also awaits its resurrection, but by the hand of man. Will it pass by there? Poetry, a place called Congo, flows where rivers and voices meet. In the kingdom of childhood, memory calls for the sweetest dreams: fluidity, beauty, meditation.