August 5 2022

by Aiden Heung

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Early summer, wet

stonework facades of dead

mansion halls, red

stitched into smoky grey

bricks; fattened

sap in each branch that flattens

green; sheens

of water

on each sinking

leaf. Look at the rain

you say, or

as I correct you, look

at the drowning,

when light waves to

and fro, from the lenticular

sky. Slow


morphosis into light

friction on my skin. Save

me love, from this Now. Show

me the warm side

of my moon

at noon; a sun hides

in syzygy, showering gold some-

where, elsewhere; I have

this rain, this head heavy

and wet,


like from a hangman’s rope.



Aiden Heung (He/They) is a Chinese poet born in a Tibetan Autonomous Town, currently living in Shanghai. He is a Tongji University graduate. His poems written in English have appeared in The Australian Poetry Journal, The Missouri Review, Orison Anthology, Parentheses, Crazyhorse, Black Warrior Review among other places. He also translates poetry from Chinese to English, his translations were recently published in Columbia Journal and Cordite Poetry Review. He can be found on Twitter @aidenheung.