Denny E. Marshall - One Poem

Secrets

The white sheets
          of paper
Are covers
The black ink
The words
          soak threw
Why should I
Tell you anyway
I guess it is
the fact
I can’t talk
The way I feel
Faults shift slightly
Pens lift anchors
My notes
Are the reflections
With someone
Standing on both
sides
Mirrors
Writing diaries