Gift

When you hold
a slice

of fresh cut
red melon

to my lips
I drink

as much
as I eat

And though we give
the same name

to every incarnation
of this vine

the taste from this
one is specific

(for it must carry
the savory

hint of metal
the particular salt

of your forefinger
and thumb)

to which I say
Give me

the whole thing
the history of it

If there is a war
buried

in this gift
I'll eat that too

Like most fruit
it holds its own

water
which once was

rain or glacier
or dew extracted

and gathered
over time

after a massacre
of elk

or the slow
extinction of fish

Let me
kiss it all back

into your tongue
to say

Look
I'm real

in a world
full of figments

I didn't know grief
could cool

a fever body
but here

you and I are
taken

in each other's mouths
becoming

the temperature
of the sea