What kind of cloud is that? our traveling
companion asked, peering at the bobbled
masses suspended like teats on the underside
of a thunderstorm, like follicles of cream—
And if snow or rain fell now,
tilting back our heads
would we most clearly resemble
our ongoing hunger, would we open
and open as in that first instinctive
prising-then-latching, that gasping
for breath between the beginning
and the rest of the curving track—
In response to Via Negativa: Impediment.