Tendrils

When I asked him about names
They are epiphytes, he said, not parasites
tendrils of stars
sharp and coldly geometric
but bright
gracefully insane
roots digging in like claws
or reaching out like expectant fingers
dangling in the night.
White orchids curling up trees
to kiss the silvery sun
brown thorns crawl up a lampost
piercing a man-made soul.