Dear Theo

                        Now my brush stroke is sure
                        Of a blossoming tree in Arles,
                        Now my brush stroke is sure
                        Of twelve sunflowers in a vase,
                        Now my brush stroke is sure
                        Of Gaugin’s pipe and chair,
                        Now my brush stroke is sure
                        Of a moth that lives on tears,
                        Now my brush stroke is sure
                        Of the Mistral through wheat,
                        Now my brush stroke is sure
                        Of stars that wheel the night,
                        Now my brush stroke is sure
                        Of men circling a prison yard,
                        Now my brush stroke is sure
                        Of a field under thunder clouds:
                        Now my brush stroke is sure,
                        Now my brush stroke is sure…