Annie Fan

Three Poems


Puerto Rico, September 2017

huddling here, shoulder to shoulder the lights
out, every shape enough to look like an animal,
animal-like enough to be confusing. each light out

in this vastness of the birds, taking back pollution,
wind, rain, the dead trees of their houses awash
and no longer together, painted by torch,

this dark night; strip-clean-searching out late
through the absolute water. sometimes a star calls,
sometimes they look. the people nest like

people, without absolute power: the fear –
that all is gone: the greater fear; nothing
accomplished. who controls the lines

of photons zooming out? what is this indexed
and rational oil-splutter, electromagnetic
wave? real birds in their densities of feather,

another metaphor for the island, as they
move. closer and closer together.


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