Stranded

by Joe Bisicchia

“Been there, done that,” we can say about the moon,
our quotation marks like the rabbits’ footprints in the snow
soon to melt, soon to blur like Chuck Yeager and drift

into space, far beyond the orbiting satellite, even though
we may just wish to return so to engrave our snow angels.
It is so cold and yet, becomes less cold in all that is numb.

I think of this amidst my loud words now being fully aware
I have seized a found snow blower with no oil to run its heart.
I hope to feel something, to feel still alive even when dead.