Last night I dreamt of butterflies, made from silk, then light, then paper –
Fluttering between my words and breaths, our eyes were ships, and my hands an anchor
We were swept away in tides of fallen wings, dark-veined and too fragile to touch –
I watched as they crumbled in my irises, into waves and waves of dust
Perhaps I leant too far overboard, or maybe I just blinked?
I woke up in a clearing in a forest – the rain was falling upwards and the sky was underneath
A butterfly in gold and blue perched upon my finger
And then, I looked up,
Oh, hello you.