I'm listening to a tall Irish man, bearded but only slightly, and of some 30-40 years of age.

He's talking about a book. I'm not sure if his words are specifically addressed at me, but I'm definitely part of the audience of two or three. He's good with words - patient, happy to make the most of the moment, explore whatever comes up for him at the time.

At first he's talking specifically about the story - and the way it links back to something before hand, and that in turn returns to address another idea, built up earlier, but then he moves onto address that idea in general...

"And then there's that, and that came before that, which links to that ...".

I get the concept, it is interesting the way language does that - recycle itself.

And then he builds up to his final point,

"Really, there's only the inside poet ...
and the form of the filling food".

Comments: This was a cool snippet of a dream. I'm not sure that my retelling of it communicates the understanding it left me with. I had a tangible sense of the "inside poet", at work in all our stories, the filling/content of the story varying, but the idea of each section fo the verse being linked inextricably to things that had gone before it, remaining as a constant.

What a mouthful.