VINCENT VAN GOGH
In every stern divestiture of color and line
the language spoken is visionary and divine.
The broadening hands of a rubberized god make
things of a Nature sublime. Vincent. Vincent.
Shadows fall across the lake, where a number
of majestic birds are deciding their tracks : I can
hear their quaint ellipses - 'shall we squander
time, shall we fly once more, take to the sky,
again, this time?' Vincent, Vincent. Some
lily-white girl is approaching; I see she trails
a yellow shadow, but of light, and bright, not
a darkness at all. The blue sky, above her,
fissures its particles of twirling light - I see
she is there and not there alike. So, Vincent,
Vincent, just me - traveling through the likes
of time, with nowhere really to go at all.
Vincent, Vincent, do you hear my call?