Lonely in the Fog
(A response to Hermann Hesse’s Im Nebel *)
How strange it is, walking in the fog,
in an autumn dawn,
seeing but a tree, or a single stone,
feeling you’re alone,
alone forever,
never to emerge from the empty white,
never to be seen, or talked to, or touched,
except by the breeze,
and the golden light
reaching in the fog
—a house far away—
in the rising sun,
and the ringing bell,
of a Sheppard dog,
as the lifting fog turns to morning dew,
footsteps on the grass, of a passerby,
and one little smile,
perhaps even two.
[su_panel background=”#f2f2f2″ color=”#000000″ border=”0px none #ffffff” shadow=”0px 0px 0px #ffffff”]Anahita Ayasoufi teaches at East Tennessee State University. Her fiction and poetry have appeared in Every Day Fiction, Lorelei Signal, Mirror Dance, Liquid Imagination, Daily Love, and a few other magazines.
image: Crismatos (Creative Commons BY-SA)
