Vincent Vincent Vincent
Vincent Vincent Vincent
Vincent Vincent Vincent
Vincent Vincent Vincent
Vincent Vincent Vincent
Vincent Vincent Vincent
Vincent Vincent Vincent
Vincent Vincent Vincent
Vincent Vincent Vincent
Vincent Vincent Vincent
Vincent Vincent Vincent
Vincent Vincent Vincent
Vincent Vincent Vincent
Vincent Vincent Vincent
Ode to Van Gogh
I don't hear their frantic chatter
until it stops.
It is a riveting silence that soon
rolls like a wave
and teases the ear for completion.
In a breath, and secret agreement,
a mighty whoosh of beating wings
explodes from the yellowed stalks.
A horde of flying noise darkens
the sky.
A black blur both raucous and syncopated
shoots toward the sun.
How do they know
it's time to go?
Copyright ©1995 Kelley Rouse