Surface Tension

Three black birds drink the water from a street-side puddle
moving behind our lives
with perfect rhythm,
a trio of back-up singers.

Millions of dew-drops halo the tall grass on the lingering edges
of sunrise.
They stand on edge like soldiers
and men awaiting a hanging. They glow like hot metal
on the smithy's anvil.

Daylight Savings Time

Sun comes up.
Sucks the dream from the world
like venom from a bite wound.