Was passion wrung out on these wintry walls?
Rose suffuses the counterpane
but this room fires no salvo for Vincent’s life.
Emptiness rings in a butchered ear.
A jug of water set beside the bed;
three jackets hang like soldiers from three pegs;
bare brown boards inviolate.
His hand raked the bed and the works of art
slung athwart the tipsy walls.