Adamant on the Edge of Dreams by Lisa Marguerite Mora

by Steven McCabe

One pearl

beneath all

I don’t know what God is doing.

He sears me with the palm of his hand,

hollows me out with light

so that I can’t feel my bones anymore.

And my grief—

not that gut wrenching stuff,

is just water that flows and flows, flows unimpeded now—

I am open,

undammed and not drowning,

not fighting for my life.

duo two

Why is it I can see your face so clearly?

shining artifact2

wire light

I am floating (90% water, they say),

my ribcage, fluid, caging and releasing.

I have become amphibian.

I do not know whether to walk or swim.

I miss the bones

of the earth, dark stones, polished pain hard beneath my feet.

Gravel and grit I need.  Dust. Dirt.

Black and pungent.

river pebble light

muted

Please.

klee love

But there is just light split

over water

that spills

and your face

adamant on the edge of dreams.

receding

beneath all

And I wake

as if you were really  here.

night moon

Lisa Marguerite Mora is a prize winning poet and a freelance editor. She conducts creative writing workshops, and this year has completed a poetry manuscript and a first novel.

She lives in Los Angeles, California.

awake

I was influenced by the idea of an edge while depicting the figure – who fluctuates between pictorial and pictographic. The waking in the poem seems to be another edge, or a disappearing edge, delineating realms of  water & light, idea & memory, as well as the all encompassing natural, visceral world.