Cavity

The exposed root of tooth, yanked,

now dried of blood, upturned

as a desk ornament, is part palm

raised in blessing,

part antler of a disappearing buck.

My carbon kiss print,

washed by waves,

made small by dental surgery,

sticks to my lips, a remembered smile

of your voice on the phone.

I hope whoever pries

finds my checkbook balanced,

my baseballs dusted on their wine

bottle perch and my coffee cup

saving a swallow for your return.

My scripture today reads, "As a deer

pants for water..."  so might it be

a geography of brothers holding flutes

at opposite sunsets, the beach

taking the prow of a canoe,

right on the chin.