Jagged puddles dress the pavement,
Sleeping in the valleys of cracking tiles,
Flattening their scattered angles in
Transparent films that trick the light.

Poem problem:
It's time to solve another stanza,

Slotting in the words,
Like glossy jigsaw pieces,
That form a not-quite-grid,
That's lined with smooth little bevels.

Walking shadows,
Walk between the longing shade,
And talk between the leaning trees,
On mud, gravel and stone beneath their darkened feet,
Overlapping sometimes,
Doubled up and down to split beyond,
They silent walk and talk in pocketed hands,
And gaze sideways at numerous stars.