332/365: Only That and No More
I used to dip a wet spoon into the bowl of sugar,
taking only what stuck and no more,
just enough to edge out the coffee's bitter.
Only that and no more
was an inhalation,
an allotment of space
within which no sense was too filled,
no particular thing called for its own attention.
There was simply a spot of sugar
and a little less bitter,
and my spoon's tinking
against a china cup.