van gogh
spent four years
in the noises of asylums
in france
the wheat fields rolling out
from under the calm
blue walls

each brushstroke
wrestling the tensions

the skies azure and calm
forced high up
or gone all together

the earth swelling
in greys and yellows
bigger and bigger

people, dancing hay bails
the quirks of circumstance,
accidents

hard angry lines
cut the land into
fields

two awkward lovers
in the underbrush

a moth,
large grotesque

and then the weeds the flowers
soft and infinite, throbbing
another sky uncut, unconquered