The Starry Night


That does not keep me from having a terrible need of shall I say the word religion. Then
I go out at night to paint the stars.

Vincent Van Gogh in a letter to his brother

The town does not exist
Except where one black-haired tree slips
Up like a drowned woman into the hot sky.
The town is silent. The night boils with eleven stars.
Oh starry starry night! This is how
I want to die.

It moves. They are all alive.
Even the moon bulges in its orange irons
To push children, like a god, from its eye.
The old unseen serpent swallows up the stars.
Oh starry starry night! This is how
I want to die:

Into that rushing beast of the night,
Sucked up by that great dragon, to split
From my life with no flag,
No belly,
No cry.


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The Starry Night