after van Gogh
A coalescing war is happening in the vineyard,
shades of dark and light blue are losing to each other.
Grass sparsely hides a concrete foreground
although I am starting to wonder
if this is a wall
I peer over.
The vineyard is green,
orange in patches,
its vista with turquoise figures
under a still afternoon.
I saw a man and his wife
earlier in the day, talking
as they are talking now.
He asked, wind against one lip,
to see if she could find a word
to rhyme with his affection.
‘Affliction,’ she said, ‘my darling,’
Though haven’t we had enough?’ E
