Jessica Schneider

Two Poems

These Hands as Islands

 

Too much spills…

dream, as altitudes waver under body and what will
wend and wear as wind

pulls ground from land, body, as hand
and hand go unaccounted, sift down and ascend

flesh, found in the gulf
of love, held by charity, and so it begins:

round seas leap over elements,
into touch, bottom water

grasses, I. A mind becomes
hands, broad fingers parted by one

small string, wishing to bring sunlight to the quiet
a candle makes when lit, gripped

in the glow of eyelids, till my letting go of it.

 

Recurrence

The philosopher said it would happen
again. We'd hang something human
(like sleep) between dreams.
Call it megalomania-
a tap of hooves taking
the horse, noise from its tail,
swatting and collapsing
breath of gown. Head swung up,
then back down.
Such muscles would impale
echo, ride the dirt
trail. Will such happen again?
If one can't make it
such probably should.
                        The Hill Country hawk
is there, rested on a tree.
It does not care.
Thuds on thistle leave the flavor
fruited seeds behind,
to pull and flower, following
the fennel of some spot
a dandelion lands
upon, favored, recognized, a chime
in hand. Will such happen again?
What being begins
larger than what is
near? These weeds spread.
This horse. Afternoon.

 

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