Ask me about the weather

Let us conceal ourselves
Within words –
Words have a way
Of concerning themselves
With the mundane.
Otherwise, why would I
Have thought
Of the weather,
When the silences
That embraced us
Threatened
To bind – us
In its understanding
Of pain.
Let us look away.
The clouds are far too many
In the sky.
Ask me about the weather again –
Let me not lose
That thought-
It is nonchalant.