CLXII and CLXIII

"Look in thy glass and tell the face thou viewest" and "An ode to my first tomatoes"

Behold the empty canvas. There are those

who dearly would caress its gentle face.

Who’d be wordless and weepy to suppose

they might be granted access to its space.

But you, O you creator, you reject

its warm inviting emptiness for naught.

Where you could, with warm colors, now inject

it, still you opt to be by nonsense bought.

See, she who’d be delighted at your art!

See, him who’d find in your work something true!

How sad to die without doing your part.

How many wounds does your omission ‘crue?

What is it to be buried a clean slate?

Distract yourself until it is too late?

~~~

Tomatoes, are you doing well today?

Have I moved your pot to the perfect place?

Are these crushed egg shells keeping bugs at bay?

Is this amount of sunlight to your pace?

Is one cupful of water just enough?

Or should I give you two, or maybe three?

At morning or at midday is the stuff?

Or else at night—is that the time you tea?

What are these little brown spots on your leaves?

Is this something that should give me some pause?

Is this place too exposed to pesky thieves?

Am I the worst of gard’ners that there was?

I’ve never wanted more badly before

that someone else’s progeny was sure.