Vincent van Gogh: Visitor Submissions

A million arrows are aimed at the sky,
yet the sun hasn't been shot down.
Glancing back,
their golden faces are full of tears.
Mourning grasses
grow high in my eyes,
burn flames in the wind.

Those duckweeds and swimming fish,
those floating clouds and breezes,
are all behind me
in warm waves and lonely songs.

In turning, I lose my way
and feel the lotus core in pieces.
With arrows sifting through my hand,
I see sunset in crimson.

(published in "Poetry Canada" 2006)

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