Lost in VanGogh

In shallow pools of reflected thought
A child's face,
Sad and transparent,
Floats above a wheatfield,
Thick in bright yellow
Amidst a flock of still crow.
A shadow dressed in tattered pants
And a paint-stained shirt
Brings a smile of recognition
To this lost child's face,
Then fades with a sudden gust of wind.
The crow take flight,
The wheat sway into consciousness;
Our hearts numb with the beauty of his pain.