For my brother, who left this world too soon I did not follow you to the fields to plow the dark, cool soil by night, after a day’s work for cash. But I know how your boy-frame hunched forward in the tractor seat to hug the wheel, how moonlight fell across your bare back, how the engine’s hum mesmerized you. Farm boy, at home in the family fields. I did not follow you on the open road sailing into the heartland to lush wheat ripe for harvest. But I know you drove fast with windows down, wind rushing against your face, plains sweeping toward Litchfield, Des Moines, Moline, big farm territory, wide-open sky. John Deere boy, at home in the vast Midwest. I did not follow you to West Tennessee as you greeted coffee-guzzling farmers mornings in the café, raising a flat palm. But I know the ring of your Hel-lo-o-o! as sunburned faces crinkled - chewing tobacco or smoking expensive cigars - men calling out, Hey Dave!