top of page

Patrick Erickson



I opt in

for these gray

and latter days


rather than revel

in the fleeting pleasures

of a season in the sun


The sun is set

and I walk by the light

of the moon


And when there is no moon

I navigate by starlight


Considering the staff in my hand

vis a vis the angle of the terrain

which do you reckon—


the staff wields the man

or the man his staff


lest he dash his foot

against a stone


a mere stone's throw

from his encampment?

A Wet Spring

follows a hard winter


The ground heaves

and swells


Groundwater rises


There isn’t much

priming the pump

fumbling with buttons

to finger the merchandise


The undergarments

are sheer


what little there are

of them


There’s little friction

as lubricants spread


and dry lands

become wetlands


bottom of page