In a yellow pond there are white ducks swimming.
Only a little taller than people, sorghums are still green.
Where should I put, in this pounding heart,
A narrow path in the field, this sadness in August.
Rain washed the sky clean last night, sun shines
On hills and leaves some shadows,
Sheep follow the shepherd into the village,
And shading a well, a big tree looks like a heart.
No one ever spoke of August, summer is over
And fall isn't here. I look onto a farmland
And then at the squashes over the earth wall,
I just don't understand how life and dream connect.