It is not my intention to play the parrot, Anna, nor do I hope to become an epigone, but your poems invite me to write myself — actually the proof of the better kind of art: movies making me want to act, poetry and prose making me want to write, music pushing me to the piano. It is meant as a compliment.

Your poem inspired me to the following, written while my wife was fitting dresses in a shop:

Confession

While I buy you a dress

I have to confess -

although I am sure you already know -

It is to watch it swish to the floor

It is to see all of you.

It is to rather buy an undress and

remember ‘I do!’

Friend of life and beauty and foe of spoilers of life and beauty. Golden marriage. Grandfather. Pianist and micro poet. Dutch, European.

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