Van Gogh

Van Gogh!

How beautiful a night full of stars would be,

if no one had seen it the way Van Gogh did?

Perhaps it would simply be… night.

Dark. Still. Over.

Like you, before you step into my frame.

Like you, before my gaze touches you.

And suddenly you are not only you.

You become light.

You become a glow I want to hold on to,

as if I were afraid it might vanish at once.

Which is more beautiful?

You, or the you that arises in my eyes?

Now I understand Van Gogh:

It is not the stars that are the secret.

But the gaze that lets them burn.