THE COURTSHIP OF WINDS

Patrick Erickson

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Afoot

 

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?

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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

overnight.

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