The Vase That Is Marriage

The vase is the painted figure
Of a vase, like a postcard-size print
Of, say, a still life with pawpaw.

The tablecloth is brown,
As in maps a mountain range is brown,
But the Java Sea is green, in which the vase,

Dragging its anchor, is a sailing junk.
The tablecloth is a hank of yarn,
Which doesn’t make the vase potters clay.

It never was that anyway.
When did he last, seeing the vase as a vase,
Put some flowers in, or not lack the desire?