Van Gogh In Auvers-sur-Oise

The silhouetted figure
Moved towards them,
God like, the sower
Stepping from the sun.

His queer frame
Stranger than usual,
A knotted posture
As if twisted from wheat.

His hands buried deep
In his working jacket,
Where the breast
Clotted with blood.

His expression stayed curious,
One ear still to the wind,
Like a dog ready for flight,
A walking open wound.