My Accordion Lungs

I house you in my cloak of music,
my love for every strand of honeyed hair,
not knowing
where the next heel of bread
will come from,
abiding in my faith
in what comes next.
With doleful breath,
my accordion lungs
exhale burdens
and inhale the sweet scent
of your straw blond curls.
I hold you in my arms,
my mothering parentheses.
We are bundled, we two,
safely entwined,
dust swirls
in tiny tornadoes of light
at our feet.
A butterfly rests,
embedded in fabric,
guided by hope.