The Hunt

Chapter Four

The spirit is residual and nothing martialThe air smelled of dust—of humidity, ash, andsnow in the pollenOf cold and crowsI prepared without clothesA tiny hard apple held dull and dry in the handLanguagesA code of sleepAs I dreamed I forgot, and woke pressedSleep is much the same thingEven now I remember the bedThe wool was wetThe air smelled of garlic and coffeeThe neighbor sleptSleep is an intense contentment — its conditionsare mine, its conditions are met

(Lyn Hejinian. The Hunt. La Laguna: Zasterle, 1991. 8.)