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At the Temple of Zvartnots.

Diana Der Hovanessian’s latest in Ararat.


By Diana Der Hovanessian via Ararat Magazine


Even the thistle is tender this spring.

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,


waiting for the altars and circular walls,

curious about the god ascending the throne,

anxious for architects who for centuries failed

to duplicate the miracle that stood in this place.


Its first architect impatient for lightning to strike

heard thunder and called it his sign for the site

and Zvartnots rose, Zvartnots rose,

so dazzling beholders praised sight and not source.


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