Jose Padua: In Contemplation of the Failure of Empires

In contemplation of the coming
of the starry night we listen
for the sound of late summer
cicadas, feel on our skin the
electric static of the waning day’s
last light, wait for a sign while
standing like flowers amidst damp
grass, a word to transform us
from beggars into suns and
planets, red maple and slippery
elm. Our half closed eyes, our
half numb flesh, are filled again
like cups on a table in expectation
of the feast. Ready once again
for brilliance; ready for everything
in the world that’s dim, dark,
shady and beautiful; ready for
the city that moves us like a river,
the landscape that anchors us like
these low mountains; ready for
colored leaves falling on the blue ridge.

Copyright 2019 Jose Padua

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In Contemplation (photo by Jose Padua)