Puddles are
Flat, they shine, they reflect the sky.
Morning basins over nadirs of imperfection.
Orange and Blue mirrored coverings,
atop pavement depressions.

Puddles are
Built, ponds become reservoirs,
Reservoirs become lakes.
Their faults are fast filling in a downpour.
They are whats left.
The parts that well up inside.
Pools that fail to drain

Puddles are
Wide, water features.
Pushing their natural boundaries.
Drawing attention to the flaws in the bedrock.
Like blisters over asphalt wounds

Puddles are
Deep, crevasses that force channels to erode.
A trickle unchecked will eventually overfill them.
Floods exceed their capacity to keep pace.
Water flows from them

Puddles are
Empty, outflows carving muddy arroyos.
They become eager chaotic rapids.
Worthwhile destructive attempts to drain away water.
To shrink the footprint of their expanse.
To draw attention away from the defects below.

Puddles are
Remnants, each existing atop its own blemish
The Sun rises and greets them
Gradually offering more and more of it's warmth and care
Heat comes to water and water joins the air
Slowly they fade away

Puddles are
Dry, spots in an alleyway.
They disappear and remain safely hidden.
Until the next rainfall tries to convince them that they are just water coloured damaged road
But the sun continues to shine down on them
Renewal begins