In each and every grain of this brown rice
a god is seated auspiciously and
enjoys supreme bliss and love
far beyond our imagination
 
That is also true of this turnip
and of this tofu
We live eating love
Our love eats love
A meal is such a festive ritual
 
We are surely starved
We have never been starved
because our real stomach
called the soul
is always filled with
food of supreme bliss
 
Even an inch-long bug has a half-inch-long soul
so peel away all the bad money of
sorrows
and turn it into the gold of joy
 
That is the hope entrusted to us,
says Breakfast to me,
we must never take our eyes off
that hope