No wonder the Paris residence program attracted such a large enrollment this year: the door of their new office was labeled:

STUDY A BROAD

at five o'clock in the morning, everything is still and the streets are empty. that's what one would expect: yet there is a life that goes on: crows cross the street with their resolute step, approach the cars chosen well in advance, call out to each other their morning news, sit on rooftops and adjust tv antennas to their favorite programs. unlike humans, crows are never in a rush. they pass from garden to garden unhurriedly, enter unfamiliar kitchens and enjoy quiet breakfasts at the table, peck through the morning paper, and scrupulously balance their accounts. at five o'clock in the morning, people are entirely unnecessary.

If one can say of breath that it is well-articulated, like a word when it is pronounced with clear diction, then what I heard in my ear, as if someone were leaning over it after I had been lying awake for quite some time, waiting for the sun to come up, was a single, well-articulated exhalation. I could almost recognize the sound of voice that seemed to reside in the breath's inaudible wake. Yet there was no word; only a fleeting presence, overheard, intimately sensed, and inexplicably absent.

Drugstore hypocrisy:

 

For sale at Boots pharmacy: DOUBLE FACED PADS.

as long as I hold on to a poem, I am certain I won't drown

l'anniversaire d'une disparition

Encounter: sitting in a dip by a grassy path, a fawn. Not much larger than an adult rabbit. Motionless and unafraid. I sat down on the path next to him. His nose wrinkled up, the skin like a child's, bare and pruned, and dark. I reached out and petted his face. We sat there for quite some time. Then he got up, turned about a few times, as if hesitating, then disappeared in a knee-high field of nettles.

dream

I am standing in a room, facing a wall. To my left, a large window. It's dark outside, but the windows have not turned into mirrors. Outside, it's darkness and fog. The windows seem semi-opaque. Without turning my head, I can see a large black bird approach the glass, its wings outstretched, not flapping, but merely extended, keeping it suspended in that fog. The bird's beak is so close to the window that it seems it's already passed through it, into the room. No, this must be an illusion. The windows become insubstantial, as if made of that fog, and are billowing like a dark grey, gauzy curtain. But when I turn my head and look straight at them, they are solid glass. I face the wall again, and continue seeing the windows distinctly, as if they were in front of me. The corner of my eye is a prism that alters the appearance of the world.

Without a sound, the bird's body traverses the window pane in slow motion. As soon as it's in the room, the bird becomes a real bird, making real bird-noises. I recognize it: it's a crow-eagle. Black as a crow, large as an eagle, and very gentle. I have already befriended it. It lets me plunge my fingers deep into the long soft feathers on the top of its head. I caress its beak. 

A dog rushes into the room with its slobbery canine excitement. It wants to sniff the bird, play with it, jumps up and down. I had no idea I had a dog, but now that it's here, its presence is natural and familiar. But I'm afraid that it will harm the bird, and I chase the dog away to protect it.

Now I notice a monkey who's observed the entire scene. I had no idea I had a monkey - but its presence is as natural as the dog's. The monkey is jealous of my fondness for the bird and, like a disturbed child, starts banging its head against the wall. I am heartbroken, and feel that somehow I had betrayed it. Why can't my animals live in harmony? 

The dream ends with a feeling of helplessness, and of love I feel for all these animals (combined with a profound knowledge of each of them).