In Vincent’s Eyes

I looked into your eyes and thought/ the glass, it glimmers/ it breaks/ sometimes. Sparkling on the ground / breaking into a million pieces—how do you know it is a million pieces?/ I came running at the sound, my soul/ was reflected in your eyes, I didn’t stop to think “why?”/ I only thought of you, of your art/ the poetry of the presence of your eyes/ the painting of your portrait on the wall/ I press my ear up close, still intact, I feel/ the glossy paper under my skin, I hear/ the rumbling of the washing machine through the wall, I imagine/ it is your heart beating,/ so much feeling/ from a picture on the wall.