The puddle is disturbed, rippling

and I don’t want to wait to see what’s left

when the reflection stops shimmering

–

Somewhere in a place I can’t see

overhead, a dark bird squawks

– maybe a warning, or a mocking cry

–

There’s something threatening to spill out

so I close my mouth and rub my eyes

in vain, hoping worry will fade like wind

–

We’ve been here before

yet the volume remains unexpected

and the view indiscernible