STARRY STARRY NIGHT

First published on 1 February 2022 in Reach 280, IDP

They're talking about you again
Vincent. You're on their radar.
You know that painting you did,
the one with black cypress trees
corkscrewed against a night sky?

Not that they were black to you,
of course, nor was the violent sky.
'Black,' you said, 'is a mixture
of blue and violet, yellow and
green.' How right you were.

In your terrible passion, you painted
non-stop, creating an ocean of sky
clouds like storm-tossed waves.
But, as you say, the sky's not
truly black, not by a long chalk.

More a vaudeville of colour.
And those stars. Your frisbee stars
haven't half stirred up the scientists.
They're measuring them, Vincent,
lining them up with the planets.

Not for them awe at the citron-yellow
you used to make your tumbling suns.
They're more into celestial sleuthing,
pinpointing the very place you stood
to paint that starry starry night.

You've got them into a right royal
lather. Me too. It's your vigour,
your outrageous colour that gets to me.
It still hits the spot, Vincent. In a
clockwork universe, colour matters.