a fine mender's fit craves measure

There is a moment in the making of every minestrone when a whole and happy bean surrenders its integrity to the lure of the surrounding soup. Twist a ring around a finger long enough – any finger, any ring – and it will come to begrudge its knuckle. And you will forgive X if it cannot remain forever sandwiched between W and Y. The water turns slowly savory and the shell falls away eventually tenderly.

(This title came to me in an early morning dream fully formed. It was preceded by three images: the bean in a soup, the twisting ring and the sandwiching of X. Only after I wrote it all down did I realize the logic behind it.)