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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.
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