At Christmas, Cyrille brought the wolves into
Where does he ﬁnd them.
They sing for forty minutes
at the bitching hour.
Part of a pack, echoes, scraps of distance
Ever since I’ve listened to them for several
These wolves, Viviane, sing around the points.
Do they need to enter the room to hear the
Heaps of little lives in juxtaposition.
If I wrote to you in the past tense I would feel I
Will you be back on New Year’s Day?