Today's poem is by Carl Phillips
Rest, now. All that ruggedness, blood-pain, and blindness-to-its-
own-illusions that, classically, the establishing of new frontiers
has always requiredthe work
of empire: that was then.
In its wake, the fallen leaves rise and fall again, like the feet of
gods long ago deposed, shambling
nevertheless into their dusty,
once-fine arena. The gods look gently out on the staggered crowd.
Andvery gentlythe crowd, applauding, surprises even itself.
Copyright © 2007 Carl Phillips All rights reserved
from Cave Wall
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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