Feast with us, on the heart’s food, the resonant human voice, the felt reality of who we are, the quiet of the cricket’s night and the exuberant possibility of the peacock’s day. There is no theme, no purpose, no rule, no truth, no meaning imposed. Just a few days of freedom for poets and poetry lovers. Rage, whisper, sing, declaim, laugh, preach, chatter, wail….carouse and sleep. As I should be, in McGregor.