I probed its crown with the tip of my tongue
and it creaked like a bough a boy swings on.
Then with the pincer of finger and thumb
I plucked it from its loose bed like a bud
and set it on this oak table now a desk.
It was taller than I thought and like a blunted tusk,
its ivory inlaid with colonnades and courtyards,
and trees bearing the semblance of fruit —
still but ever-moving like that temple frieze
of rounded lovers wreathed around each other
in tireless ecstasy — a work of art,
thus by definition useless. And so the other,
older teeth went back to their task
of tearing the flesh of fowls and grinding wheat.
From: Drypoint (Faber & Faber, 2024)
