“The body of work,” it says
As if to imprint
They know who we are

The breeze cools my body
Memory in tears
It only knows death
Like candy

They play a quartet
As if to say
This wasn’t real

The floor is green, then yellow
My fingers haven’t felt the earth
In a year now
Like love

I took a postcard
You drew death
As if to remind us
of what we have

I saw an exhibition around Vincent Van Gogh this weekend. Here’s what I put together as it happened.