Vincent

For bristles you could use dune grass, dried
Pine needles, eucalyptus leaves...
For bristles you could use anything,
Your fingers themselves petals, expressive
Grace &; falling light...
It caught dusk &; a lurid gleaming pool hall.
Then there's the stars erupting across canvasses,
A bridge, a cypress, divine mad illumination
Recorded in a portrait by your candle-brimming
Hat. Glory
Burns, is a toll taking creativity to the gaze
Of some prostitute, sea captain, a mere bed post
&; chair, the fire scratched &; instilled even amid
Windows, an asylum's: barred.
How did conversion sneak in, a church seen
At sun down, soothing, lush, but
Intense simultaneously?
Was it too much--
This grasp, these visions, a harbinger,
Compounded, grounded out, all of it,
In that last frenzied soul cry of a sky &; field
Filled with crows