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By Ann Huang


You had gone out of the state, beyond havens of flowers,

Backing a voluptuous sea.

Something stayed, —hummingbirds hovered and left,

Moon and confections lurked in.

Where the sore nose was after you 

And the hurting knees,

Bent down under a bed, listening behind a wall.

The watery nose, the woman in bed

Reappeared in the water.

That is a love scene for one life. 

More things would remain.

The beginning would make it less dark,

Or the fate twists.


The air would never rise, and then rise,

Or the hummingbirds sing.

The clouds would never be the same gray

Lighthearted on the horizon.

[And you are lying like a shaman

Amid the neat firm night,

Your nose near the blue pillow,

Which makes our promises real.]

Ann Huang is a seasoned marketer with more than fifteen years of experience working with the spoken and written word. As an MFA recipient in Poetry from the Vermont College of Fine Arts, Huang’s poetry has appeared online and in print extensively. Her recent manuscript, Saffron Splash, was a finalist in the Cleveland State University Poetry Center's Open Book Poetry Competition. Huang's new poetry collection, Delicious and Alien, is due out in 2017. Her poems follow the surrealistic gestures that weave reality into divergent realms of perspectives and perceptions. Visit for more poems and press information.

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