This frozen puddle
I’ve passed twice before
Once carrying a bag of dog shit
Once empty handed
Dark and smooth
Like volcanic glass
Mirroring the moon
(Obsidian? Is that the word?)
Now, on the third day
Diffusing light, shattered
By a child with a stone
Or the wheel of a car
A thousand jagged particles
Glistening under a predawn street lamp
Victim of the cruelty of thoughtlessness
Or the concretization of alienated labor