We emerge from black silk oceans,
Laden with strange dreams and aches,
But my belly is an engine, churning butterflies for fuel,
And ever breathless before you,
I rise nonetheless.
The very air is burdened today,
Something heavy and foreign,
Almost unknowable weighing on my tongue and fingertips.
There will be feasting between us still;
As summer shimmers amongst silverlined clouds.
counterbalance is a feast