to take into the air my quiet breath

I've had a few drinks, so I'm feeling generous towards myself. Fantasizing about things I think I have this feeling that I think I maybe should do.
I want to write about these things, but sometimes I get a superstitious feeling that if I talk about crazy dreams, they might not happen. Better just to put them out there, in confidence, to HRH Universe. Plant seeds in secret and water them when nobody is looking. (And then take the fence down when the garden is already beautifully growing..?)

Hob-knobbing with some special people this evening. I guess you could say they are 'important' people. (I just have paused to think about that word and look up its origin, cause it's a funny word. What's the connection with "import?"... Oh, 'to bring in' from the Latin.)
Okay, so I was hob-knobbing with people who really 'bring it in.' Weird to be in that position... to be fluffing the pillows, so to speak, of these folk, but also sharing drinks with them, being asked about my own life/music, etc. And yet... it's not weird at all. I had this kooky thought on the way home that I might as well have been having a beer with the President. There, I said it. It was just like that - I imagined myself having a beer with the President, and it was very natural.

That being said, I'd much rather share a beer - no - a bottle of wine with Leonard Cohen. Because I'm very very curious about his poetry. And would like to talk about other poetry with him. Not in an analytical way. Just... to rave about stuff together.

I'd say, "Leonard, isn't this just one of your favourite openings to a poem, ever? :

'Oh solitude! If I must dwell with thee,
let it not be amid the jumbled heap
Of murky buildings!' "

And he'd say, 'Sure kid, but what about...' And quote one of his own. Ha ha. I bet he would, too. God bless him.

I have to say that this memorizing of poems has been really great for me. I've got Ode to a Nightingale totally in my brain now, and it feels amazing to have all those words at the tip of my tongue and to be able to recite them in my car when I would otherwise be thinking stagnant thoughts. Next one has to be Tintern Abbey. And then skipping way ahead to Octavio Paz. Mm.
I'm not sure why all of a sudden I'm into poetry again. I have an awful lot of volumes that have sat on my shelf un-looked-at for years. I even sold a few of my special antique books of poetry on a spiteful and kind of desperate day. Maybe it's taken me this long to get over the connection I unwillingly feel, to a certain person from my past. Anyhow, I'm glad to have poetry back for myself. It gives me the same feeling I get when I'm within feet of an ocean, say, lying on the beach with my ear to the ground. Sense of time kind of drops away. It's all the same, always has been the same. How many unfocused gazes have dropped into the sea since creatures first had eyes? More than enough to refill the ocean if all the water disappeared, I think.