Invisible Ink

 

To write until the page is blank again,

when words have ceased to be themselves

and all the stories are told,

like the moth that lifted off a painted tree,

having settled for the night,

assimilated to the scene— 

unless it was a painted moth,

a typical transfiguration,

the way it all begins as art,

how words fly on thin wings.

It's the art of invisible ink,

to write it all down before the letters fade,

then hold the paper to a candle

to find what is drawn to the flame. 

                                                                                    Cheryl Emerson

                                                                                                              7/5/2013