What do they call the sadness of a solitary sleep?
−−− Pablo Neruda
There is a certain remoteness to the puddle.
Its brackish water ripples in goose bumps,
concealing mud’s sole contemplation that
lies just below the surface, dreaming of
your misstep . . .
— M.J. Iuppa, “Mud,” Poetry Pacific Tuesday, 5 November 2013