60 Van Gogh

Do you remember

A summer day 

At the Van Gogh

Exhibit; we refused the

Portable Tour Guide,

We would provide our own

Narrative, we would make

Van Gogh our own,

And anyone’s who would

Listen. On that day

We were the V.G. experts,

Connoiseurs of the form.

On that day

We defined the ego

Of V.G., the coloring

Of the wheat fields,

The coloring of the beard,

The hair, no small

Coincidence.

On that day, the World

Became Van Gogh

And V.G. the World.

Of Starry Night,

We described the halos

In the vision

Of a madman,

Of  his self-portraits

We described

The painful gaze,

The heavy brow,

And the weight of

His oppression.

And yes, we

Described the

Alcohol-tinged yellows

Of his vision.

And oh, the World

In the end observed by,

And oh, the World

In the end consumed by

And oh, Van Gogh

On the last day –

Alone in

A wheat field

Set upon by crows,

A wheat field

Overcome

By Blackness

A wheat field,

And beard, and tousled

Hair

Consumed into Spirit.

And that painting

Loomed high

In the Gallery’s

Last chamber.

And many dropped

Low their portable

tour guides

To listen to my

Last time with you.

Blackness comes

Winged across the

Wheat field;

Blackness comes.