My mind in a pause – a reflection of my eyes
ripples between twirled ice, forced around
in circles by my drinking straw as ice taps,
clanks against a dented glass half full.
I stare at building lights and streetlights
through an A-shaped window, reflections
of Nopalito's interior superimposed
on nighttime's world. Cars pass on Missouri
as phantoms liquefy into the road.
Ceiling light transposes itself, centered
on a streetlight. A wall near the cash register,
with a plant and chili ristra, emerges, growing
out of parked cars. A wall vent floats
on a black sky. Skewed coffee cups
and red glasses dance over commercial coffee
makers and soda machines as my waiter's reflection
circulates like fan blade shadows around tables
and chairs while he serves his customers.
Light and dark shapes, transparent, glowing, shattered,
geometric, layered, like my thoughts broken or scattered
by other thoughts, transposed over recognizable images,
create chiaroscuro illusions, the way dreams do
or don't make sense because pieces are there.