Poem

Open Field

“And what do we care whether there is a resurrection or not, as long as we see a living man arise immediately in the place of the dead man? Let us take up the same cause again, continuing the same work, living the same life, dying the same death.” – Vincent Van Gogh

Under the blank, gray sky,
across the open field of snow,
the dense black forest moves away
from you the longer you walk
towards it, an optical illusion
that hovers in your mind, a chalice.
Wind whips and cold forms
ice in your nostrils, crusted snow
crunches, shards and feet
falling through to powdery fluff,
you begin to feel you will lose
your breath to the frozen sward
and every step seems to say,
“There is a God,
There is no God,
There is a God,
There is no God,”
the longer you walk
towards the line of sewn trees
that mark the dark horizon
and you wish only
you could think of the words
to a song, any song,
and someone to sing to,
to make time pass less.