Northern Utah's empty hills would nurture me.
I know they would, but in what fashion would they?
Vast and treeless, beckoning to those, like me,
With arid souls, would I be energized by them,
Inspired to write, not ever stopping, or would
I be pacified to such extent that I would sit for
Hours on them, blankly staring, loath to shift my
Gaze toward this tablet's keys again?