If the sun came closer,
everything would burn.
Each tree is an act of courage,
holding its own, making peace
with the heat and dry ground,
forbearing while mountains,
not yet made low, rise like
monuments to what may be borne.
God, who burned in bush and pillar,
watches still from behind a veil of fire,
burns away, and scatters in harsh
and unavoidable blessing. Under its heat
the small fruit grow, are plucked and brought
to vinegar and salt. Immolation
brings forth. Taste and see.
The Color of Light Poems on Van Gogh's Late Paintings
A Book Excerpt on Nurturing