Excerpted from a longer work.

That is why, the distance eliminated, something one carries
rotates around a radial axis in front of the chest, this along
the exterior wall, disappearing out of sight

I will bring her her bag, extracting in a way with my hand
even amounts

What that partition is now—it might never have been pins
and needles


As an outward expression, that is the distance one carries

Looking out on the scenery might allay what is felt but not

Folded though equal, it is no longer a box, to be counted
outward, eliminating space


Each fish for a grid We count twelve then eighteen
Once more we expect some result, scratching the resin from

the wood, something to keep with our fingers
A spigot, was it a heart, was it a little change often


As the space between could either be happening twice or
not at all, anything would either be carried, fast, or empty

A bridge, as it is taken by a ravine, puts the material back

It would be the same as carrying a box in front of the chest


In it, the twisting lines do not come around through, as a
steel frame seen from a moving vehicle But for an awning
dipped by rain

There in this could be a lap

Without something to carry it through, won’t it have been a
way of sitting, of moving fingers


Not aqueous, not of the lightest color possible, quivering, it
is in miniature that anything is successful and prohibitive

Their paths intersect, one above, one below, the birds to the

Climbing into bed the hum of her feet


This might be why a bird, to dip its beak into the flesh of
the fish, sees the others who wait

This in the wing, the way I see

The beak be a forearm, also a bridge


In motion, looking back, the distance measured is a feeling
of vision made real

So we would, standing, circle an origin

From outside, the floors of a building wouldn’t be trees or
fish or anything—they could be seen all at once

And like the breath of a tree is only oxygen, these layers
collapse In a way it is a relief, in a way it is exactly a


So a bridge is not a sudden shrinking, but for the little hairs,
but for a little change often

A projection from the face of a wall, challenging our
expectation, a close-fitting garment

She would not compare bodies, as there is no point in


Speaking, reaching out, I imagine this to be a mediation of

These attentive energies are endless space in equal
direction, an outward-moving sphere

Then a truss can no longer hold, and in our way of reaching
we hope not to ruin the feeling ✧


Adam Greenberg is from the Seattle area. He crochets text-blankets and installs them on benches around Providence, RI, where he currently studies, teaches, and translates.