Beneath a Cloud

I sit and wait for the cloud to shift;
The ceiling fan passes comment,
Scraping around for things to say -
Not sympathy
But a regular clucking
Stirring up hot air
Nagging the open door into creaking disapproval
That beyond its portal
There is too much lying undone.
So in gathering gloom
I sit and wait to be consumed by the dark sweat of night
For the cloud to shift
But expecting nothing beyond
A vague miasma of hope,

and yet  ......