To become fluent
Is to walk with the hands
The resilience of starch
Dried on the steep slope of the bowl.
And what may seem clean
Is a trick of the eye
For the residue of rice
Resists the towel and scrub
And clings there,
Known only to the fingers
That would seek this knowledge
And ignore the one thin hair
Afloat in the soup, yesterday,
As we closed our eyes,
As we closed our eyes
And savored the broth.
Image: Fabrizio Chiagano on Unsplash
Sweet and Bitter Greens 
I love your words. I don’t always understand, but I like that. The searching is so important. Thank you. 🙏
Thank you Jon, that means quite a bit to me. D
Devon, every thought, every word ingrained in the world’s poetry book. Imprinted for all time. Thank you for that!
Thank you, Lance. D
A pleasure, Devon.