Architecture of the Mouth

The numbness is receding like a tide,

leaving the raw, red sand behind.

My tongue is an explorer in a new cave,

poking at the absence where the root used to be.

It’s a hole in the fence, a missing board.

I tried to whistle a tune for the radio

but the air just hissed out of the side,

a thin, pathetic steam.

I look in the mirror and see the gap,

a dark window in a house that’s settling.

I’m learning to talk around the loss,

keeping the secret behind a closed lip.