The soup between us is colorless and it’s thought to be

liquid, but it could be energy or some mercurial substance

we haven’t discovered yet. It’s warm and cold depending

on outside configurations of clouds and wind and moisture—

but basically it’s without temperature or solidity or liquidity.

The soup between us has no taste—unless the dairy farm’s

nearby or the lumberyard—a dirty clothes hamper, but still

that’s not it. It’s not the transmitter we call “the soup” for lack

of a better name. Well, perhaps the river that connects up all.

The river, yes–that’s it. “The river.”