Van Gogh and You

Your penmanship puts me to shame
in your letters (each stroke a paragon)
who’d catch the hint of despair?
at the calluses where you grasp the pen
Van Gogh’s sunflowers bloom
How precious that empty chair!
not for reading and writing, but for remembering
each shift of the shoulders calls up another time
you endure the raids with equanimity
and savor Van Gogh’s images alone
With your heart in your mouth
each step may be your last
sensing obstacles ahead, you pick your way
across the opposite of lovе
and on the other side of dеath
where Van Gogh’s Sower comes to grief
amid his sprouting seeds
For you, a single room is Heaven
returning home, deliverance
now, when everyone’s become a singer
and there’s none to mourn the dead
you alone keep still
beside that empty chair
Bloody deeds remembered grip the throat
words are salty, voices dim
neither round- the- clock surveillance
nor the watcher in your mind
can snatch away your pen
and the blizzard in the painting
Van Gogh’s severed ear takes fl ight
seeking the right tint for you
the clumsy stride
of muddy peasant shoes
shall bear you to Jerusalem’s wailing wall