a touch of blue

My professor is brilliant.
You can tell by the way his hair is long,
Silver, spinning in on itself and outward.
He paces around the room
With wrinkles in the places his thoughts
Have been thinking
All these years.
His shoes are polished but worn,
So we know
He is eclectic, a mix
Of classy and colloquial.

He is explaining the language of books.
He is explaining mechanisms of research
He is explaining the right way to consider.

A touch of blue
Startles me to awareness.
And from my plastic desk
I think to myself,
Why am I doing this,
When I could step outside,
Take a bite of sky,
And be filled?

My professor is brilliant.
He steps my way
And asks me to please,
Be quiet.