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:
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!’