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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 Melanon for a quiet celebration of his city, its inhabitants, and the language that gives it life.From "e;Eden"e;:You go forth drunk onthe multitudes, drunkon everything, whilethe lampposts sprinklenodding streets with stars.Robert Melanon, former poetry columnist for Le Devoir is a recipient of the Governor General's Award, the Prix Victor-Barbeau, and the Prix Alain-Grandbois.
"e;I shall settle for the paradise of what I see this rectangle of twelve lines a window."e;
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