moon boots crunch

five lights refracted

in a constellation of icy drips

a foggy curtain of twilight gauze

is my Milky Way

so far away sub zero

as seen through icicles on my eyelashes—

and my moon boots crunch


here, sub zero


minus thirty


minus forty with the wind chill


it has to be a certain temperature

a certain type of dry cold

to hear your moon boots crunch

at ninety decibels loud

and this isn’t the moon

it’s Alberta


exposed skin freeze

in three minutes

frostbite hurts like hell

or you don’t feel anything

’til you thaw out after

they cut it off


cover up, layer

insulate with


out on the town

in feather down

wear your moon boots

and go crunching

through loud snow

if you dare

or stay inside your capsule


outside elements

cause strange sounds

when moon boots crunch

at ninety decibels loud

and I see through icicles on my eyelashes

that other moon boots

want to crunch

About troysherdahl

A blue-collar bohemian with a penchant for fine words and dirty jeans.
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