tendrils

by Karyn Huntting Peters

heavy, almost tangible
tendrils of night
black reach with longing, stretch down
from the spaces between the deep sky stars.
they wish to leap the last million miles
to settle soft on the earth
between brittle broken branches
and warm carpets of fallen pine needles,
to spend evenings in comfort, wrapping round and round until they feel no sharp edges
and forget the lonely vacuums of nowhere.

but the leap is a dream
and the journey long.
unfurl, tendrils, unfurl!
there is no sun-warmed earth to lie upon.
it is only to dream of and see in the distance
with longing and stretching.
tendrils laden with blackest
night cling to memories of bright stars
as they once danced in the magic skies, but
have such faint shimmer of remembrance for the
elusive world across the endless canyons
of time to come.