So this is restriction: a thousand tastes
of compassion, the crisp and the dissolving,
the bowl of comfort and the bowl of bracing sour,
what is mashed and crunched, split and whole.
The zippers of wheat, the burst of a mango, the tiny
skin peeling itself from a perfect bean,
a hundred plump grains and a hundred plump
nuts and seeds, the geneses
of tall green stretches and fat green leaves.
That is what becomes my mouth
and body and my heart, and it is
my joy, and kindness, and plenty.