I dream of Pine,

Soaring, reaching, in cold winter sun,

Baughs dusted,

In fresh flakes

I smell the fresh scent

Of such mountains in winter

Above the desert below

Sweet earth tones of sienna and umber

I dream of glittering stars

Too numerous in the firmament

And amongst them

The satellites that inspire and defile 

In my apartment of concrete and steel

Ensconced in modernity

Comforted but lacking

Such vistæ

Within the hermetic seal

I smell and see

In the senses of the mind

Such a spectacular local  

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