Birds
In the dissolving sky, birds whose name I’ve forgotten
as the rain washes clean their wings, their traces
I love the lonely moon and dark equivocating clouds
and the birds gathering on the windowsills
in the Huangma Mountains, everything rots readily
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Fiction by A. Jiang.
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Fiction by Can Xue, translated by Annelise Finegan.
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‘There was no horizon, no life and nothing to see.’
