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67 CloudWatching That cloud is a giant perambulator carrying the moon from its undersea bed to the starry arms of Orion. And that cloud’s gotten snagged on a chimney, only to be transformed into a smoky burl. Here comes a cloud of Herculean proportions, an Arnold Schwarzenegger-cloud that flexes its biceps at the stars so that they swoon, pucker their lips, and shimmy out of their suits of ice to ride that musclebound cloud far beyond the Milky Way. And here, now, is the cloud made of leaven, a cloud that rises to every occasion— O heavenly cloud, cloud strung with bones that beat a vellum drum, trickster cloud with its mouth stuffed with cotton, with teeth made of soap, encoded cloud, cloud that’s a breast of white marble, cloud under our tongues, in our wombs, cloud of longings, opal cloud of weddings, shroud-cloud, weeping cloud, O cloud that enveils the world, gray cloud that is neither froth nor tissue nor zero: but only air singing an aria to itself. ...

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