The one thing about being “idle and blessed” out here in the country is I have more time to read poetry again. Maybe it isn’t so much that I have more time (you can always make time). Maybe I have quiet—no car alarms, no traffic helicopters, no police sirens or the rushing of the Bart train hurrying people to other, more important destinations. I’d almost (but not quite) forgotten how much certain poems made me feel more alive . . .