The Green Tricycle: Issue #1: Air: S.L. Robinson

Issue 1:
Air
S.L. Robinson

In a Fog

Fog seeps and creeps
From the marshy bog,
Slowly takes over the
Land of the dead.
I lie on the granite tomb
As if it were my bed.

Mist whirls and twirls
In cold winter air,
Dances with the stark trees,
Rigid tombstones.
My body longingly aches
As chill sets in my bones.

Air heaves and breathes,
Discovering life,
Pulses ever closer
To surround
My yielding flesh, penetrates
Depths of my soul, unsound.

~S.L. Robinson

This poem was previously published in Haunts #29, Spring/Summer 1995.

S.L. Robinson is a veterinary technician in a 24-hour animal hospital. She lives in Oregon with her husband and two wolf hybrids. Email.