Author Name
My Father's
Parents' House
Washington Coast
I wake
​
into that
​
splintered wooden
room of evening
​
youth is
​
simply one
perspective
​
on the sea
​
we listen to the water
​
in that unmaturable way
one tries not laughing
​
at the flimsy
​
little kite
our planet flies
​
​
City Center
Coyote
in the Park
​​
it is safe
how in some hours
animals call
out distances
from that leeway
which listening affords
I know fear is
a softening bed
a road down which
a tracing fingers
found its own lips
on the masonry
william erickson is not a water slide. He is not in bed with science. Though william becomes things frequently, there is no time to describe them. Try looking in West Branch, Mercurius, Afternoon Visitor, or in his few little chapbooks, or in his full-length book You Don’t Have to Believe in the World (April Gloaming, 2024). william is a sea of Bs and Os. At night his edges soak up a beach. The beach is in Washington.
11.2