Before the Ink Dries
The dark nib moves across the woven page,
A wet line glistening in the amber light;
Before the lingering shadows disengage,
And pull the quiet morning into sight.
The paper drinks the shadow of the pen,
In pooling black that slowly starts to clear;
To hold the word before it shifts again,
While every syllable stays sharp and near.
Yet once the glossy sheen begins to fade,
The written line is trapped in steady blue;
A record of the promise that was made,
When what was felt was simple, raw, and true.
For paper holds what memory lets go,
And keeps the secret that we used to know.
October 2026