van Gogh
This morning
I hang wheat fields
across the kitchen sky -
paper bright as stars.
In the afternoon
paint
slips through
my fingers
like gold.
Under a whisper of sun
contrasting images
become large
as flowers in a vase –
citrine faces adorned.
Tonight the moon cascades
across a starlight sky
filled with boats beneath
the dark hue
lamp lit
to the naked eye.
First published by Poppy Road Review
2026 Jan Darrow





