like a soft wave
it wafts
through the front door
we’d say
we could smell it
a block away
but truly
we only knew
right before
(or was it as soon as)
we opened...
maiden's golden hair
rippling fire blazing trees
pinwheel flowers spin
his heart in his brush
van Gogh admires from afar
the world all aflame
rapid, yet languid
each slashing harsh stroke...