Homely, lonely night. Venus shines against vacancy.
He doesn’t paint the bars that keep him so far from starry night.
Transfixed by stars.
The tree grows, it is living. It is hopeful.
And so is he. Not always so. Seldomly like that-ever.
But, it is, in the moment, this marvelous minute.
Winking, wild, and wondrous stars shine.
Depression doesn’t occlude the scene.
Haunted eyes register relief, romance, and remedy.
Gibbous moon, he the artist,
every brushstroke for the moon.
Make moments move naturally as they should.
Twinkling, tumultuous this moment.
Movement makes memories
It’s Van Gogh’s to do, to make, to share.
Published in Poetica Review, Autumn 2022 (PDF)