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Summer has filled her veins with light and her heart is washed with noon.

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We do not write in order to be understood; we write in order to understand.

No good poem, however confessional it may be, is just a self-expression. Who on earth would claim that the pearl expresses the oyster?

First, I do not sit down at my desk to put into verse something that is already clear in my mind. If it were clear in my mind, I should have no incentive or need to write about it.

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Summer has filled her veins with light and her heart is washed with noon.

Summer has filled her veins with light and her heart is washed with noon.

Summer has filled her veins with light and her heart is washed with noon.

Summer has filled her veins with light and her heart is washed with noon.

Summer has filled her veins with light and her heart is washed with noon.

Summer has filled her veins with light and her heart is washed with noon.

Summer has filled her veins with light and her heart is washed with noon.

Summer has filled her veins with light and her heart is washed with noon.

Summer has filled her veins with light and her heart is washed with noon.

Summer has filled her veins with light and her heart is washed with noon.

Summer has filled her veins with light and her heart is washed with noon.

Summer has filled her veins with light and her heart is washed with noon.

Summer has filled her veins with light and her heart is washed with noon.

Summer has filled her veins with light and her heart is washed with noon.

Summer has filled her veins with light and her heart is washed with noon.