Arch

one longs
to be at the middle of
the arch
door,

arch hands falling
on the side of the
hips,

gaze maps out
the other leg of the
arch
door, and finds ultimately
the source
of restlessness

the air is the
suspect
why the room is
confused

it thinks that it is
a boat at sea and there is
a storm
that causes its
vertigo

the nauseous philosophy
of the lost
existentialist
embracing pain hoping to
find the window

a frame of reference
a space between
where the jump has to
be made
at last...

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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