Out to Find Ourselves

Out to Find Ourselves

we do

you
at the foot of a precipice
skirting the brink

this abyss

I
ahead of a glacier
ahead of the curve

And the crevice
doesn’t move
unless the earth
beneath it
moves

it doesn’t shift
unless the landmass shifts

The glacier moves
albeit slowly

as the tectonic plates
upon which it rests drift

The whole earth
eats off of those plates

And still
it’s not enough
to appease
the whole earth’s appetite
for self-discovery
and glacial bliss.


Patrick Theron Erickson, a resident of Garland, Texas, a Tree City, just south of Duck Creek, is a retired parish pastor put out to pasture himself. His work has appeared in Visitant, Grey Sparrow Journal, Tipton Poetry Journal, and The Main Street Rag, among other publications, and more recently in Torrid Literature Journal, South Florida Poetry Journal, Arlington Literary Journal and Sheila-Na-Gig.

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