It takes a great subterfuge to get
all this off the ground. This evening,
the sky, all of a sudden, is pretty
orange at sundown. By the big
puddle at the side of the road, the
mailman is browsing his phone,
with his reflection quite perfect
and still. If one doesn't move,
I suppose the other shan't either.
Yet I bet, if he were a dog, he'd
lunge at his very own image.