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A Warm White Coat in his gallery
A large, warm, white, felt coat, cozy collar.
Five big red, comfortable buttons on its front --
for five senses, with matching button-holes.
But the buttons and holes are mis-aligned,
like sweet, loveable, mad Vincent's mind.
Gardens are like minds, and minds are gardens --
don't pick the flowers, don't pluck fruit.
Do not try to sneak past the gardener's tools;
your responsibility: enter by the owner's gate.
Ask the gardener to let you in, then wait -- wait.
He may invite you in, or not notice who you are --
you know how artists are, lost in mind, beyond care.
Vincent saw solar seedlings, supernovas as sunflowers,
and his brush extended his mind into The Stars,
God creating a decorous veil of tears, from rose-petals.
