But The Feeling Beneath The Word Poem by RIC BASTASA

it is not the language, but the feeling beneath the word,
it is not the word that makes you trickle a bit like a leaking faucet, it is the trickle itself, the one that you saw when you woke up upon a dream about a leaking faucet, the one that disturbs you, until you have found it, and closed it.

it is not the idea, but the images you construct and paint in the air when the night is cold and you are alone in a room and you open the window to let the air come it and you feel how cold is it like you.

it is not the images even, it is what you create inside your mind, while waiting, while the hours rush to you, while you are trying to figure out, what is it that disturbs you and yet there is still nothing to capture it and then master it yourself.