Two Metaphors

The calendula

Is it just

that a glassful of water tapped from a pipe

should prolong, refeed, and grow

the calendula in my bowl,

while I,

gone the little drop of Thee

(the tasteless sightless touchless Thee),

fade and wither?

in vain the flagons of past wisdom,

in vain the salts and ashes of profile,

or bread of dream.

Is it just, my God,

that I fade

while the flower rooted from the garden

lives on kitchen water?

Love

what is a prologue

we seek to make a tome,

extract posterior images

upon this bone,

and dying as the initial

Once-upon-a-time

begins:-

a curious finger rummages

for the official

colophon.