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It is hot
The sky above me is a blank blue slate
There are clouds, yes. . . they float on the horizon like pale ghosts
The sky is dark sapphire
And it fades away into the palest robin's egg imaginable
I bake in the late June heat
The ink from my pen does not dry--
It smudges in the oven-heat
It smells of summer
The blank sky promises of endless heat