Twelve paper vessels, lavish in design
floated down the flooded street
the other night. Each one bore the false
teeth of a good lie as they floated past
in the storm’s runoff, singly and in
groups, committees of gnarled words
settling into sentences. What time was it?
When did you leave? Do you remember
that day? These are the things I’d ask
if tongue and teeth and pen were still in sync.
Both gave me lists of words. I used some.