As he stepped
Into the puddle
He thought: I should make it double -
And jumped a second time.

Wet drops soaked
His trouser legs;
Smiling then, he dropped his specs
To see without reflection.

If you had flipped this upside down
A scene would have emerged
Where waterfalls began to drown
His feet, his pants, his heart.

And watercolors soak the page now,
The puddle empty, dry.
And He only a mess of paint,
The painter whistling: My, oh my.