Emmanuel Hocquard, p.4

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IV

To describe where I write to you, turning my
back on my books, facing the computer.
My writing table. My reading table under the
window. Two table. Lamp seven.
The window looks out on the stone wall on the
other side of the impasse (the myth of the Cave)
which reflects the light of the afternoon sun
into the room with the singing wolves.
On my left, this light. On my right, my library of
American poetry.
The books nearest me are detective novels and
videos.
On the right the files where I get lost.
The screen before me.

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