Noon Star

The Starry Night (Anne Sexton)

That does not keep me from having a terrible need of--shall I say the word
--religion. Then I go out at night to paint the stars.
(Vincent Van Gogh in a letter to his brother).

The town does not exist 
except where one black-haired tree slips 
up like a drowned woman into the hot sky. 
The town is silent. The night boils with eleven stars.   
Oh starry starry night! This is how 
I want to die. 

It moves. They are all alive. 
Even the moon bulges in its orange irons   
to push children, like a god, from its eye. 
The old unseen serpent swallows up the stars.   
Oh starry starry night! This is how   
I want to die: 

into that rushing beast of the night,   
sucked up by that great dragon, to split   
from my life with no flag, 
no belly,