Good Morning

I can’t speak

I’ve swallowed my front teeth

and have shrunken back into a seashell of disbelief.

Where have you fallen from,

and where am I falling into?

You’ve pushed a coral ceramic bowl

into my eyes

but I haven’t crunched a cashew

of a word to you

all day.

Wordlessly, you glide away

like a murky mirage.

I could have missed you

if I had stifled a sneeze.

Rainbow disks shriek for recognition

as I peer into your solemn, silent gift.

They bob up and down like sea buoys

until I halt them with a small silver spoon.

Lucky Charms.