To Give and Give

When the first asks for drink,
the second spits.
The spittle boils on the sand
until it shoots up -- a refreshing vine
of water.

When the first asks for food,
the second reaches into the ground
until the ground sprouts back,
offering from its anger thorny berries,
tiny purple fists.

When hail falls and the first covers his face,
the second shelters by raising his arms over
until they thicken and branch,
turn to nothing
but wood jolting
under each stone.

Afterwards, the first wakens in the shade.
He knows he's alone.
He calls and calls.