"It is not the language of painters but the language of nature which one should listen to.... The feeling for the things themselves, for reality, is more important than the feeling for pictures." – Van Gogh
I found Vincent’s ear
lying quietly in Midday Rest,
silent to autumn’s sky.
Surrounded by Olive Trees
afternoon’s brush, mustard, melon, sienna and gold.
I bent to ask, did he desire,
away from this Orchard with Blossoming Apricot Trees,
smelling sweet and warm.
I strained to hear whispers
as dusk fell violet grapes
watching him listen
listening to the glorious music of Starry Night.
This poem was previously published by the Poetry Quarterly
Heather M. Browne is a faith-based psychotherapist, recently nominated for the Pushcart Award, published in the Orange Room, Boston Literary Review, Page & Spine, Eunoia Review, Poetry Quarterly, Red Fez, Electric Windmill, Apeiron, The Lake, Knot, mad swirl. Red Dashboard released her first collection, Directions of Folding.
Follow her: www.thehealedheart.net
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