Tentacles of longing,
Stretching out,
Blindly,
Into the murky unknown,
A sometimes alien world
Of unfamiliar
And paradox,
Reaching,
Praying,
Stumbling,
Suddenly a touch,
A tender warmth,
A hand that holds
But does not grasp.
Beneath a dark horizon,
Undeniably and assuredly,
Arising like the morning sun
A glowing,
A growing,
Filling the landscape
Of the soul,
A knowing,
Here is a heart
That feels like home.
