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Why the lighthouse is always crooked new
I stand on the same sloping rock every time. The tower is straight; the photographer is not.
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Three mornings of fog and what I learned
Expose for the nearest post and let the rest go. The meter is wrong and so, at first, was I.
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A roll I thought was lost
Found in a coat pocket in April, shot the August before. Thirty-six frames of one hillside.