Telephone wires, dark as a line in a schoolboy's notebook againstthe dawn; paint fl akes from houses drifting down like dust; thehulking shadow of a desk that emerges, stock-still as a cow, inthe moment of waking. Join poet Robert Melançon for a quietcelebration of his city, its inhabitants, and the language that givesit life. You go forth, drunk onthe multitudes, drunkon everything, whilethe lampposts sprinklenodding streets with stars. | Montreal Before Spring by Robert Melançon, Paperback | Indigo Chapters