Van Gogh’s Last Letter

A Poem by Joseph Fasano

I could tell you of my wild

and scared visions,

the nights I woke, alone, in shadowed alleys,

clutching the wreckage of my body.

I could tell you of the absinthe, the locked wards.

I could tell you of the moon,

her bluest hair.

But today there is only

this deep wheat,

these crows that may be going or arriving.

I’m done, I’m done,

but you are not.

I tell you

you do not need the other world,

the wild visions of saviors and angels.

Look at each other. Look at what is there.