High Ceilings

I wish there was a word

For that feeling you get

When your head is caving in

And your mind is narrowed

For when you peel away from the bed

And hide outside in shade in sticky heat

For when you step timidly into a library,

And climb into the lift to the gallery on the top floor

For when you rise up the building and your thoughts drum

And you step into the hall lined with frames and canvas

For when the air con feels fresh against your tacky skin

And when you’re alone and calm in the hollowness

And then you tilt your head upwards

And you see the high ceilings

And in that space

Your caved head opens, and your narrow mind expands

And the height between your shoes and the skylights dissolves the numbness

As you look up and let yourself feel grounded

And you’re aware of all that’s above you

And all you can’t see

And the great smallness of yourself

I wish there was a word for a high ceiling in an empty room and its peace.