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