I took a boat through two-hundred islands going nowhere in particular. At night
there was wind. I walked the empty streets–no one stopped me. Then, morning and
some snow. Well, here I
after Van Gogh
Indigo and orange river and the women, kneeling. White where there might be
clothes. The act of bending, to wash away. Sienna riverbanks. A lone figure on
the bridge. It