A magical man marches once midnight strikes.

By day, he cultivates the land in which

her father owns. Harvesting honeydew and water

melan— choly, as he stares at the clay and grass hut.

He admires her ivory gown of rough fabric

as it glazes her cocoa skin. She pulls the door

of thick, rotting lumber and delightfully gazes

into the dark eyes of her admirer. He closes

his eyes as she heads back inside, then

he pictures himself running off with the masterpiece

of the muddy hut where she resides.

The ease of day ends and the transformation begins.

Midnight is here, and the man adjusts his blue

collar as he marinades the dying crops. His night

consists of sparing the waning melons. With a single

stare into the infinite black of the sky, a silent

shower mists the air and sprinkles a cure

into the atmosphere. As dusk diminishes

and the mist melts aways, Dawn’s shadow

appears. She steps to the door bright and warm.

The man smooths his collar, turns, and bows.

She nods. He goes back to harvesting his melons.

He is on one knee and pulls the fruit from the soil.

Cantaloupe? the man looks at her and asks. I just

can’t elope! Teary eyed, she disappears.