Glass (Ely Shipley)

A disco ball gleams, an eye
of God, and I’m reflected
thousands of times, tiny
in squares until I can’t breathe,

drowning in the sounds of bass
I mistake for my heart. The other dancers –
my shadows, come closer to, then farther
from me, sprayed out in the strobe
lights, pressing me in and out of two

times, two worlds. My face I remember
from this morning behind a fog of
breath in the bathroom
mirror, and the bar-