Thursday, August 13, 2015


Photo by S. Auberle

I imagine you, Vincent,
on a summer morning
in your village in Provence,
whispering to yourself,
arranging sunflowers
in a cracked, blue vase.

I see you painting them,
over and over—your symbols of hope
that you will awaken one day
into a sunny world,
leaving behind your darkness
of potato eaters and crows.

But o, Vincent,
how brief the dance…
how quickly blossoms fade,
leaving only hope behind
and a trail of yellow petals
to follow into the sun.


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