Inked

The ink is dry

Yet the memory

In my flesh

Is raw, weeping

Not of my grief

Sensations are fresh

Alive in my skin

Of my commitment

To ink the page

With my still

Small voice

The day on the Way

When revelations

Pressed upon me

Like rain from within

As if I had no choice

But to meet, to greet

The world that I LOVE

With devotional

Poetry, with prophecy

To speak of The Change

The change I know

Is coming,

As much like a storm

becoming a climate—

As a drop—

becoming the ocean**

The change that

Will change everything

The ink is dry

Yet the memory is fresh

As the ink to page

Is quietly written today

Everyday, in promise of

No longer living

In silence

The promise that

I INKED

**The poet Rumi reminds us, “You are not a drop in the ocean; you are the entire ocean in a drop”