I have climbed to the top of a towering ridge
Just to drink in the view from above
But this endless horizon of earth, wind, and sky
Is a pitiful proxy for love.

Is there any real truth to the aspirant sense
That our lives have an arc for the best?
Like the canvas before me, inertia of ways
Is the logic to put that to rest.

To have been here with you, to have shared all these things
I would give what I cannot describe
But with alternate outcomes I’m forced to concede
Geologically cold diatribe.

For my life will apparently be like this view
From the ridge, with its high-open spaces
And will wearily serve as a landscape upon which
Will gaze no dear end of new faces.

And my flesh and my blood will be land and the sea
And my thoughts will be clouds in the sky
And my heart, it will burn, till the end of my days
As the sun, for a lost reason why.

And my love will be vapor, the stuff of the wind
And can no more be solid or true
And the squawkings of gulls will traverse it in flocks
On a bright, sunny backdrop of blue.

And the world will go on, full of stories like this
Of my view from this ridge high above
And the reasons we climb here and stop here to seek
Our reflections in life, or thereof.

For we all bear our crosses of sadness and joy
And we all seek our times in the sun
And some small consolation in life, as in love,
Is that views might connect us as one.