Growth of a new species,
Hanging down from the heavens.
Like trees or vines strung from a ceiling.
They sway from the disturbance of your breath.
Moving gently - hear a rustle.

Hold you air to see them still,
Fall asleep and see if you'll awake.

Spotlight eyes appear in the dark,
These hanging trees are coming alive.

Is your skin pierced by their looking?
I sense they will it to be so.
Pinpricks upon the cushion of your skin.

Do not struggle in the vines.
With every motion they grip tighter.
Pull you closer to themselves.