I dreamt of drinking tea with women
Of argentine hair, bleached bone necklaces
Silver tinkling on forearms
Crows feet and liver spots, sagging breasts
Why do we have ugly terms for beautiful things?

They held my gaze, one by one
Knew things that I was on the cusp of knowing.
Here, they said, and passed me a brew.
It tasted of salt. mushrooms & sweet dirt, smoke, & meadows

By dusk, there he was
Careening over the cold plain, broken claws furrowing soil
The cup trembled and shattered,
Shards of clay red and wet on the earth
I sung a low hum til his dragon heartbeat matched my own
He folded his torn wings
and curled his tired head in my lap.

Out on the plain, seeds had broken
Things that were meant to be were growing
In the morning, I would pick flowers
Say farewell to that majestic life

It was time to make tea with the crones, see what they had to say on the matter.