Lit Instructor

Day after day up there beating my wings
With all the softness truth requires
I feel them shrug whenever I pause:
They class my voice among tentative things,

And they credit fact, force, battering.
I dance my way toward the family of knowing,
Embracing stray error as a long-lost boy
And bringing him home with my fluttering.

Every quick feather asserts a just claim;
It bites like a saw into white pine.
I communicate right; but explain to the dean
Well, Right has a long and intricate name.

And the saying of it is a lonely thing.

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Lit Instructor