¿Conversa el humo con las nubes?

What does the smoke say to the clouds?

¿Conversa el humo con las nubes?—Pablo Neruda

What do clouds say? In Brooklyn, I finish my
avocado toast just as Pablo N. puts this smoky
thought in front of my lips. All that my
stomach wants is in and through my throat, so now
brain and spirit clamor hungrily for a philosophical
nip.

I want to talk to clouds, but I don’t know any.
I can’t tilt my chin too far up. Any lyrics would fail to
drift that high. Also on trips through the air, I doubt any
cloud had longings for my optical, audial or vocal
knittings. And I know things can occupy clouds, too. So what
position would unknot cloudy intra-absorption? What would
pull the sky’s vision to flirt with hills and dust?

I think how clouds don’t think in words so an
invitation sparks nothing nor would it to a 
parsnip in hand. So I look back to Pablo. But 
I’ll bypass him and not ask. I can study
vapor. Mimic shadows and act sibilant. I don’t
wish for dark but only to transform. To unmask as
I turn into rain.

—by Sarah Dzida (May 8, 2021)

Author’s Note: This is in response to a poem from Neruda’s The Book of Questions. Also, I wrote it without using the letter “e” as a challenge. Also, also, you can read another Neruda-inspired entry here by clicking this link.

Photo by CHUTTERSNAP on Unsplash