AN EVENING WITH VINCENT

We meet at our favorite outdoor café. 
The day is chilly, we sit close. 
The sky is clear, windows full 
of washed light and street
colors in moonlight,
a bouquet of sunflowers on the table.

I ask him about his endeavors and if he’s written
his brother. He shakes his head nonchalantly.
That meant that he hadn’t done either 
I thank him for the flowers.

But he holds a letter in his hand from his brother,
his eyes are animated. Theo is now working 
in the Hague, as both are working in the field 
of their love.  Art. 

I wave my hand, see how beautiful
it is here among the light and
flowers, people, such as we are. 
We are talking about the exhibits
in France and soon
other countries.

Art is everywhere, I say
In the fields, a simple chair
animals trudging their neck lassoed to a plow.
a peasant girl who pulls wheat with her hands
face flushed with sun and weariness.

You will be in museums, your work all to see.
To love to throw their heads back 
in awe and say. Who
is this genius who paints 
the sea as if it has no mind?  
And the sky, they are riding the tail of a star.  
In fields with millions of sunflowers.

Who is this genius? These are the paintings 
will find their way in the world, and your face
Vincent, a memory for all to hold.

The world is not an easy place, Theo.
 Vincent begins a letter
and in it are things 
of beauty.