The things you teach

You teach me cures for ill-slept nights:
A flung-out fistful flattened rice
Into a pool of fighting fish.

You teach me tricks of restful taste:
To finger-wrap our pithful haste
From plantain stems of weekend wish.

You teach me plucking pleasures cheap:
To stop and smell the lemons heap,
Defying apes on temple stairs.

You teach me closing beauty’s doors:
To shut a gateway madman’s roars,
While picking peacock feather pairs.

You teach me choice to practice glee.
You teach me joys of being me.