Cornfield With Crows

Vincent Van Gogh painted this in the field where he later shot himself.

The road ends there
in the middle of the field
where the crows fly up.

The road ends there
cut off by a stroke
of yellow paint.

The road ends there
but it begins out of frame—
you cannot know, you cannot guess
where it has been.

You’ve seen the other paintings,
read the letters,
traced the journey,
but never walked the road
that ends there in the grain.

The verges are green. The road is red dirt—
life frames death.
The sky hovers black over the golden grain—
death frames life.
The road ends there
in the middle of the field
and the crows fly up.