FOR VINCENT

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.