Meditation on a Grapefruit

To wake when all is possible before the agitations of the day have gripped you To come to the kitchen and peel a little basketball for breakfast To tear the husk like cotton padding        a cloud of oil misting out of its pinprick pores clean and sharp as pepper To ease each pale pink section out of its case so carefully       without breaking a single pearly cell To slide each piece into a cold blue china bowl the juice pooling       until the whole fruit is divided from its skin and only then to eat so sweet a discipline precisely pointless       a devout involvement of the hands and senses a pause     a little emptiness each year harder to live within each year harder to live without