The Dawn of the Crone Age

Thomas Zimmerman

Blood throbs through the cracks in the tower

A python writhes

An obelisk falls

A heart impaled on a sword

Slides red and quivering

Down sheer steel

The tired gods warm their feet

Over our shattered

World on fire

In the deep cleft of a hidden green valley

A brook trills over rocks

Pools into a great lake

Where some of us row

In cool Shadows

On the far shore, in a circle of stones

An old woman

Whose hips broaden with our vision