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
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.