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.
And yet,
There will be feasting between us still;
As summer shimmers amongst silverlined clouds.