Now, Then, Always

You had taken leaps to moon.
The eye of the sun.
You had made efforts to ants’ paths,
You had made meals to damsels in the light.
You had taken bushes to the orange city in the dark.

To some you had made the best of me,
Allow it float beyond the ancient April myths.
You stood under the tree of the wind and knew
The waters in turbulence
As they became maroon.

Did the birds to the temple
hold virtue from thee,
To whom you were after,
To whom you had allowed from,

-Ann Huang

Ann Huang is a China-born, Mexican-raised and US-based author, poet, and filmmaker who published four award-winning collections, most recently a Shaft of Light. Huang’s lyrical poetry speaks of a dreamy state of being by melting present into its past and future, with surrealistic gestures permeating space and time across multiverses.