The Altar
The altar was the head
of a pin upon which
seven angels spun
singing over the din
of silence.
They saw a smaller sun
lighting their steps
over the pale sunrise
and followed.
Their circle broadened
and they were blinded.
each fell in a crimson freefall
from the altar, felt blood
rush for the first time.
Looking up at their former place
of worship, they saw it was desolate,
flat, dusty, its surface worn
by their predictable dance.
Now they stood on a ground
ripe with blossoms,
bees nuzzling the centers.
drooping with the weight
of their own fecundity,
the angels looked up
and perceived
a larger, closer sun.
©2013 Taunja Thomson
About the Author Taunja Thomson
Taunja Thomson's work has appeared in The Cincinnati Poets'
Collective, The Cincinnati Poetry Review, and The Licking River Review over the
last few years. She has been writing poetry for thirty years now, and her
inspirations include the Beat Poets, the Imagists, Whitman, and Rumi. She lives
in Cold Spring with her husband and six cats and enjoys gardening, geocaching,
and reading cat mysteries.
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