Dragging the shadow the sun gave him
Father wades the stream
Water weeds and clouds pass through his knees
Still he turns to look back at
The watermelon field he finally relinquished
(A rented riverbed, owned by the public
A land of dreams farmed for twenty years)
Finally forsaking fifty years of farm life
(Like the decline of a state power)
He approaches the twilight after seventy
Aged and more proletarian than ever
He struggles up to stand
Atop the embankment
His body, like the handle of a hoe, supports the sun
The sunlight treads heavily upon his back
His shadow bows at the embankment’s edge

Still he looks at the watermelon shed
(A blockhouse in the land of dreams)
He sees me sitting in the door of the shed
Shouting to him: “Head back”
Go home, Dad, I say
The words and seals on the transfer deed
Look like furrows and the field’s surface
The commas and periods
The stones and watermelons
All the ephemeral stuff of memory
For example
For example, I stand atop the
Embankment he stood upon
My body, like a mattock, supports the moon
The moon is as big as a shovel and round as a watermelon
The moon-glow brands my back
I can still feel the weight
I can still feel
That my mom and older brother, both deceased
Would not upbraid father
For selling off the land of dreams