A question haunts the poems that I write:
How do I know that you inspire me?
The answer is that saying that feels right;
Your presence causes more fertility
In what, before, was wasteful poetry,
Dull and uninspired, almost dead,
And now comes back to life. I used to be
At my wit's end and languishing; I read
The works of others and, despairing, said
I cannot do this. Now I leap to motion,
Compulsively composing in my head
With just as much insistence as the ocean
Rolls with the tide. I say that you inspire
Because your presence sets me thus afire.
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