Telephone wires, dark as a line in a schoolboy’s notebook against the dawn; paint flakes from houses drifting down like dust; the hulking shadow of a desk that emerges, stock-still as a cow, in the moment of waking. Join poet Robert Melançon for a quiet celebration of his city, its inhabitants, and the language that gives it life.

Extract

From “Eden”:

You go forth drunk on
the multitudes, drunk
on everything, while
the lampposts sprinkle
nodding streets with stars.

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