I swore to love forever, why not?
It felt like forever when I saw that languid head sway
on her tall neck.  Her eyes were green, sea-green.  Grey.
Twenty years ago we split.
Thirty-one years ago we said our vows aloud.
The traveling shadow of a cloud
over uneven mountains.

Children, I had children.  I
was a god to them, laughter and thunder and safety.
Now I'm a clown.  Beloved of course, but half past fifty.
Our daughters are women now, they cry
at sad movies and rule the world.  I tell you, they make me proud.
The traveling shadow of a cloud
over uneven mountains.

I thought of reputation once
for a couple of decades.  I had one for a while,
sort of, almost.  Now I've developed this steady style
amid the vicissitudes of chance
I hope somebody takes for wisdom, marble-browed.
The traveling shadow of a cloud
over uneven mountains.

He sat in his own shit and wept,
that stinky fellow with a familiar face.
Crippled, infected, pus-ridden, and hideous in disgrace.
His dreams accused him when he slept.
The prisoner of self, no visitors allowed.
The traveling shadow of a cloud
over uneven mountains.

He was a sungod, and he drove
a golden thunderjet across their skies.
He walked among them and they fainted at his eyes:
Such thought, such clarity, such love.
I'm just a simple citizen, he told the crowd.
The traveling shadow of a cloud
over uneven mountains.

Where does life come from?  Where does it go?
But what else is there?  Why are we haunted by existence,
and why does beauty always disappear to distance?
We practice but we never know.
I wear my happiness like John Donne wore his shroud.
The traveling shadow of a cloud
over uneven mountains.

My lover is aging like a creek
in yellow aspen.  That season, that altitude.
I think of palomino horses when I see her nude.
Sometimes we laugh too hard to speak.
Come see, I called, come quick.  And we oohed and aahed and wowed:
The traveling shadow of a cloud
over uneven mountains.