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…

A new book of poems