Few words, but they hold a surprising image. The poem pictures the stomach as a kitchen, and a strange one, a place where food is turned into something else without our really seeing or controlling it. We carry this odd workshop around inside us, and the poem asks us to notice it.
The second stanza shifts the focus outward. "It cannot make too much / for the land" is open to a few readings. Perhaps the stomach, or the body, can only give back so much to the earth that feeds it. Or perhaps the speaker is saying that this inner kitchen can never repay the land for what it takes. The line is ambiguous, and the poem doesn't settle it.
The speaker seems quietly humble and a little wondering, aware of being dependent on something larger. The mood is calm, spare and thoughtful, with a hint of unease in the word "strange." The short lines leave a lot of silence, so the reader has room to think about eating, the body, and the ground beneath them.