after a fresco in Herculaneum that depicts peaches and a waterglass
Sheened water, heaviness
ready to crash freshly to your lip;
down, pleat, flesh
to fill your palm, tang
to curl and fuzz your tongue; stone
exposed.
All left by the one who has tasted
and gone forth. Guest-gift—
precocious fruit and the freedom to leave
what is proffered, what is generous,
and to seek. Shadows hover, not quite right,
and the branch submits to their slide. I am still,
strangely, yours.
