The words are there Written in ink across the screen. The ink of my sweat, of my passion. Eyes not mine do read the invisible ink. Eyes not mine do read but often do not think. That is the case with invisible ink. With time and patience The words do come Through toil and dedication The words do run They often flee the page, hovering above and out of reach. These eyes of mine see them but do not think my mind can read them. The words that are out of reach. They are like invisible ink. The reader smiles The reader laughs At the spectacle of writing while the ink becomes dry. They pause at my words but do not know why. Could it be the ink is visible? Could it be my prose is pitiful? Perhaps the unseen has been seen The ink is there, but what does it mean? The reader and writer Together they share A love to discover what yet isn’t there. The words and meaning Separate do they speak. That is the case with invisible ink.