is not like a tree
            without leaves. Some spaces
when contemplating   
            and seeing
                         beauty—

In the morning 
             I embrace it in, building
bubbles.        
             Under the soil
                         many lie swayed

                         without gain—

.
.
.
.
.
.

Where are you going/how
will you find the way?

You procreated your daughter

             and she is the only.

                            The oldest procreated none

                                          and yet loved more.

You have a family keepsake

             of making ends met,

                            of everyone regretting,

                                        of showing things afterwards.

You are tender and wise,

              gentle as daybreak.

                            Everyone will forgive you,

                                        you bite your tongue.

You connect with souls

              unlike winter fields. You sleepy

                            and thin, an unblemished parent.

                                        You play and enjoy, times renewed.

You are leaving us words

               twisted winds,

                            and everyone came

                                        for they are one.

– Ann Huang