#3

 

Blockage/a sense of what’s between.
I am tumbling and cannot see clearly. My
eyes, my eyes extend to you at the time of
exile.

There is the placement of looking. Open.
Closed. And we have made a sense of order about the light.

See here: I’ve tried this to match. We will
paint the squares to look like real squares,
again to re-trace the architecture, the two
selves. Transparent. On the move. Here,
looking.

It is hard to imagine the destruction
looming within the green of everything. And
how the mail will come, sent by little birds
with baskets where their feet alight.

Is the line dividing meant for harvesting
what is underneath. And of course the
bluish silver of what you’d expect. I
recognize these letters as my own. That is to
say, appropriation.

How this dog is like this dog and a [place
for] pausing to remember the light.
Separates into seeing. Collisions
apprehending. That is to say again:
occurrence.

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samantha giles received her MFA from Mills College and has work available online at Cricket Online Review, Shampoo, The Press Gang and Deep Oakland and in the zines Try and Work. She is the Executive Director of Small Press Traffic and lives in Oakland.