Its spines and needles draw no blood from the past
where the fallen stone eagle closes black eyes
waiting, waiting for the temple to rise,
curious about the god ascending the throne,
anxious for architects who for centuries failed
to duplicate the miracle that stood in this place.
heard thunder and called it his sign for the site
and Zvartnots rose, Zvartnots rose,
so dazzling beholders praised sight and not source.
the ground slipped, earth shook and Zvartnots fell
with stone eagles plummeting down,
clipped wings falling with collapsing walls.
to calm an earth that can thunder and shake
a countryside, splitting open to consume
the miracle of curved walls and dome.
now that time has blessed the space,
all the stone eagles squint at the skies
waiting for their wings and the pillars to rise.