We are made of ink and into ink
we shall perish. Our history survives
in fire soot and boneblack pigment.
Carbon fingerprints tell our telling
and dust writes to dust
as we make our voices heard
on papyrus, vellum, paper.
Ink gyves our identities in gall
and gum. Ink gives us life
then consigns to death.
Church registries say that
once we were here.
But even as our names fade in ink,
they will be read in the Lamb’s book
without fear of blot or blur.