by Vincent Hao

I laud my feet against
the summer grass, & around me

crickets are juiced by the leg,
pushing the world to a spring. it is quiet along
the river. near me, a boy sets
his tent two stakes at a time.

later, he sleeps with a pinnacle of light
touched against his cheek.
the word zion drips off his lips.

we fish on the creek. red snappers
& trout glimmer like pearls. like the
boy’s eyes, flooding with river water. when
he grows old

he will walk in protest lines
& pretend his body has
the power of the sun. I watch the boy

yell at his father, become
his father.

I watch the boy in spring, arms
traipsed by the wind.