Van Gogh's Expenses

Theo, forgive me for my constant begging.

I am short of tubes of paint.
I'm also tired. I could be walking through dunes
as I make my way to a vantage point.
I am rationing my meals to afford canvases.
What is the point of eating
if I cannot work?
Yet without the semblance of good health
my paintings become muddied;
the impasto
lacks the firmness
of plowed ground. How
I long for days when the olive trees writhed
like swimmers wading through wild surf.
But when I'm exhausted the moon
is dull pewter. It's odd how one’s health
changes a landscape, the way
a lantern throws its personality
into a room.