converging Lines

by Karyn Huntting Peters

lines.
like threads, hanging in breathless wait.
i hold the ends, wrapping them tightly about my fingers,
one around each, like a kite string.
they are so tiny. they look frail.
they have no color at all,
yet in their clear i can see them.
it must be the light that they draw into them
and lovingly pass back out into the twilight.
a glimmer of something tangible.

lines.
from my fingers they flow to the horizon.
to infinite places they stretch and yearn,
converging in some unknown place.
the road cannot be seen,
but the lines must mark the way.
i hold them in my hands.
the skies begin to grow darker.
harbinger of the coming night.

it is no longer clear just where the lines
stop being separate and start being one,
where my fingers stop and the horizon begins,
where the known stops and eternity begins.