martes

VINCENT, ARLES, 1888


 In white suit and straw hat

a man is walking toward the sunset


(deep red now)


Just finished his toil of painting

an almond tree in blossom,

a fiery lavender field

and the backside of a horse.


Time-worn and toothless,

lovelorn and broody,

his mind seething with images

of naked women and Zola books.


He talks to the beetles about memories

 of himself in other life and other souls.

He smokes a black pipe and his nostrils

 sip the scent of rosemary, fennel and thyme,

"Everyone is afraid of me"

-says the man to the beetles, to himself 

walking towards a bluish horizon.


 Crows, in haste, like shooting stars.


A gypsy caravan passes by to the sea

in merry pilgrimage to venerate Sarah

in Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer.

 Guitars, bonfires, roses, wild dances.

They ignore the red hair man now drawing

the bluish horizon, the shooting stars,

all in the highest yellow note.


"I am alone on an endless 

and yellow sea"-says the man

to himself            to the crows.





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