A hard smart under hot wash of coffee.Beneath the pulped swell of wintercitrus or a sharp draw of winter air. Notdelicately, Dr. Wayne tested each molaretched through. In sleep I willfit one to another and scrape. Whatgnaws at me: my own mouth, nowhindered and harbored by this night guard.In the day, set aside, its plastic holds a phantomjaw. Dr. Wayne advised softer bristles,kinder hand. Even in care, I havelong justified roughness. He said Maybe this:mint paste spiked with potassiumnitrate, clinically proven to hush the howlof bared nerves. He said You might practice relaxing. Let the querulous bequelled. Enamel, harder than bone—relentless bones of my fingers or the sortsome dogs won’t let go of. Listen. I’m going totell you a secret: Where thereused to be space, I have two half-veneers. Resin patches in the gap. NowWayne and you and my starkX-rays know the truth: I’ve wanted wholeness,yes, and I’ve rasped at what was whole. One doesn’tzero out the other.