Hartier 3
Series Name Hartier
Tags Exiled Artist, Hartier
Hartier 2

Transcript Edit

I saw the ghosts
hands aflame, reaching towards
God with an urge
to extinguish.

Felt the rolling shocks, jutter
of shades pulled too far-
released. Just so the
songs came to an end,
fluttered like moths-
like something more profound;
Prophets in their graves,
dead asleep at last.

Three steps
of Homer, west:

damp graves where prophets slept,
those resting dead.

Still brush, no bird nor myths
Creche-pressed pines
amid dust-like silence.

Gorgonian tether'd pools,
a breath of seconds, a mossy nest.


Page Two.

Fine crush
of shells, layered,
lazy, languished erosion,
dark remnants of the old style.

Colossus lashed, salt-sprayed to aging,
agape with northern wonder.
Ripe sounds, raw thoughts
pine-needled breeze.
The thinker, lost in stone
under a decaying dock.

One shining ship, Tiphys
his hand outstretched.

dusted with winter moss
wolf-home to brothers.

A living cloud descends,
Zeus in his ecstasy
disperses from shoulders
down along fingertips.

Secrets kept, in me
a terminus borne.