The truth of it

The monumental blue clouds sit heavy on our horizon,
but I am trying to tell a story of the inside, here,
though there’s something to be said for the looming.

It all comes down to your monumental I don’t know,
drama lent to it from the blue-cloud sky I stared at
to avoid your eyes. Or perhaps it was you
who avoided mine – who said outside, look,

the monumental blue clouds are filling the night
and I who agreed, who held on to it, and am here now
waiting for this I don’t know to happen amidst all the other unknowns
we wait for and prepare. I clamber out, slip between
the blue damp and home; a resolution, of sorts,
and your heavy I don’t know obsession in my pocket.