Rick Mullin Soutine in the Wind
Beneath the crazing sky and golem trees
we find you leaving Paris in a hearse.
You're bleeding and you're rolling in reverse.
From shtetl do we come, and, if you please,to shtetl we return. The rabbi's sons
refuse to let you off the hook, Soutine.
It seems you broke a few taboos. They're mean,
but you'll see meaner. After all, you're oneof us. The bleeding lot, the human beings.
The mistral you corralled metastasized—
that nervous take on God in oil on woodhas broken from the frame and organized.
Betrayed, you cross into your way of seeing.
Wind resolves to darkness, wine to blood.