Astronaut’s Lament
By John Ogden


Space.
It’s so beautiful.
Even now,
As the air thins,
As I spin,
On and on
Into the cold,
Infinite distances
As I stare
Into the haze
The shining fragments
Of star-stuff
World-stuff, hanging
In the endless black
As my knuckles harden,
Fingers numbing, freezing,
I smile.
Because I have been there.
Because I have seen it.


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John Ogden was conceived of a government form and a passing mailbox. He lives somewhere out in the woods of a rural land more akin to the fantasy realms of literature than real life, and his favorite dirt bikes will always be the broken ones.