The title refers to the process of writing poetry.
Here you have this plain, white piece of paper staring at
you, waiting with unheard of patience for you to dump all
your troubles and meanderings onto. Imagine the extreme
burden this innocent ivory sage has shouldered. When the
poem is written, what you are looking at is a window into
me. Stare into the windows as long as you would like.
I welcome prying eyes in this case.
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