Like enamelled lotus buds

Like enamelled lotus buds
teeth vacate my gums
and mumble dully on my tongue
until I spit them out:
first only one, a wisdom tooth,
gleams in my palm,
a pale calyx
unstained by tartar;
others follow, bloodless,
painless, yet this dream
is ominous, portending loss.
I quake with trepidation.

It's been a year
since I bore witness
to your final breath.
You were there to watch
me draw my first:
you gave me that.

A blankness has replaced
our Sunday afternoons,
but not effaced
the recollected moments
knitting years
into a safety-net.

The teeth were sound,
so sweetly formed,
only the first was cracked.