One stood near the edge of a concrete pedestal, a forgotten vessel for pleasant inebriation and, wrapped in the incandescent orange glow of the city, a story untold. Beside the pedestal, lazily set down near a spill of tangled vines, was a partner flute – not the same size or shape, but too close for chance. A couple had wandered from nearby revelry, sat on this pedestal and drunkenly smiled to each other in the bath of cool night, perhaps their faces flushed with new admiration – or old – and the warmth spread from their glasses’ contents. They may have toasted, finished their drinks – his a sparkling wine, hers a champagne – and then kissed as the full moon bore a hole in the gauzy haze of an urban evening. Empty glasses, full hearts. Then they abandoned their instruments, setting off for their night to love and laugh together, celebration launched, and tall stems stood proud, apart, as testament to precious desires which all hope to indulge, but rarely do, maintaining their invaluable worth. Noticing one, stepping nearer and then discovering the other, a third joins the story, pairing the flutes and capturing them in their vacant bliss. Day arrived and they were all gone; the lovers, the crystal, the stranger. The story remains, threadbare as it is, but a reminder: leave the empty, always be full. #glasses #flutes #random #austin #2ndstreet #writing #writer #poem #poetry #night #literary_imagery #champagne
(at Leaving Empty, Being Full)