Light speaks our language tonight,
Dutifully approximating some kind of love.
Not just evanescent impressions of infatuated glares
Buried in moments of vaunted soliloquy,
But a luminous passion that wanders and gathers about
Seeking embodiment, then returns again
By the crest of nightfall to its rightful place
In every bosom that awaits
With bated anticipation of some kind of glory
Found drifting along gently inflamed waters
Bearing restless reflections that frolick and flicker
In their own time,
Yet always just in time to capture a few errant kisses
With silent inhibitions to rest.
Art: “Starry Night over the Rhone”
Vincent van Gogh