Tonight I saw the moon twice.
One moon way up
where it belonged
and one moon down
in a puddle
by the curb
shaking each time
the wind moved through.
I stood there long enough
for my feet to get cold.
I knew the puddle moon
was not the real one,
yet it was real too,
in its own poor way,
bent and broken,
still bright.
I nearly stepped in it
just to see
what would happen,
then did not.
Some things look easy to ruin.