Hunger and Cloud
( Henry Lyman Sayen - found here ) In dreams, we eat the cloud of unknowing, Not with medieval knives from Solingen, Not with rose-wrought Sheffield silverware Once belonging to a hopeful mother, Not with lacquered chopsticks snagged on Sado, Not with congee spoons from Tang of Shang, Not as with fingers tearing cotton candy. No. We eat the cloud of all unknowing With gold: a golden fork, a golden knife, And mouths are brimmed with streamings of the cloud That tastes of honey, fire, the names of things, Rain in rivers, luna moths on sumac, Beginnings, endings, sap, elixir, bread, All speared onto the tines of sand-cast gold: Until we laugh and weep for endlessness, For the flash of the knife and the fork, For every single cell gone glory-gold, For grief and gaiety in everything, For glimmerings new-glimpsed beyond the cloud. ~Marly Youmans
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