After a lifetime
lived under the water
of a deep cold lake called
the art of
finding new ways
to say old things
and sometimes even
of finding new things
to say
sometimes by
using old ways and
sometimes by
creating new ways
I have risen to
the surface
in daylight
looked
and searched
and shouted
and realized that
up here where
the people
who allegedly
wanted me to say
things
were alleged to be
dying for my news
of old and new
the shores are empty
as they are all
living perfectly well
elsewhere
I tread water
in panic
certain to return
to my breathless depths
but whether I shall go
by diving
or sinking
I do not yet know