writing, again

again i sit down
have for once perhaps
given up the importance
knowing this will not save me
it's not life or death
not the cause or release of sadness
i'm not sitting down
and struggling to hold an identity
one that at times
was held together
with writing

back then i'd say to myself
though i knew nothing
that at least i put it all down
it was as if i were stuggling in the surf
my soaked body tossed in white foaming waves
and i was shouting my message
every time i caught a breath
describing the action
from the roar of the surge
"even in the chaos there is rhythm"
my faint voice would call

this time i sit down to write
for simple reasons
i may have found a tide pool
a window to sea life

to write this time
is to take time
to describe how i would slowly
and quietly kneel down beside it
peer in to see what it shows me
notice how a starfish moves
the colors brighter underwater
to see what, by chance i can see
to write because i like looking closely
see what i can see