A Poem for a Starry Sunday Night

The Starry Night by Anne Sexton from The Complete Poems of Anne Sexton (Houghton Mifflin)
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,
no cry.

Since it's Sunday I'm honoring my sabbath from offering commentary/reflections on Sunday.  Instead, I'm offering the image that inspired Anne Sexton's poem for your own inspiration and reflection.  Enjoy!