Cheyenne Mountain

Cheyenne Mountain's hollow,
at least that's what I heard today,
carved out and stuff like a turkey,
and certainly not by me.
Still, what do I care?
I just learned the name
of the mountain in my skyline
for the past year, one
I could have guessed if I tried,
but somebody told me,
and that turned out to be just as well.
Before that, it was just
The Mountain, or more accurately,
the mountains, because that's
all it really needed to be,
just something I knew was there,
was important somehow but just there
all the same, and maybe I knew
the military did things there
(the antennas that look if you
aren't careful like trees, unless
you're at my sister's and see
the real trees and then know
the difference like a ghost light
you found out was anything but),
like when my other sister worked there
and tracked Santa, told the girl
he had already passed, and there were
no Christmas presences left behind.
Yea, it doesn't matter to me to know,
because even though I have a name
and more specific information,
like how Bond or at least his villains
would feel right at home there,
I still think of Cheyenne as a landmark,
something pretty to look at and contemplate,
but not so much more. It's a part of
the landscape, something that pushed up
a while ago, and in untold whiles later
won't look like that or count like that
anymore anyway. Whatever I know now,
is just a moment, it's doesn't belong
to me more now than it did before,
and anything I do now won't affect the fact
that I am me and it is that,
and that is all I need to know.
Both of us will change, have already changed,
and have changed even while I write this down,
because that is the real nature of things.

Hey, nature is natural, no matter what goes on.