Is that...?
She stands silently
 at the receptionist's desk,
acting ordinary.
It is her! 
The poet!

Of course she is here.
She must have tons of cavities
where her sweet,
selected words sit
so still
waiting to be exhaled
at just the right time
in a stirring string,
perhaps in a simile,
to paint an image
that conveys a feeling,
a realization,
a perception,
her Truth.

Just as one sweet word
is released
another slips in...

The poet with her
constant cavities
exits the waiting room,
acting ordinary.