thieves: I beseech you.

Tell me your form

so that I may be safe.


I am calling all thieves who have snared my soul

and brought it down to the dirt

and made it ordinary.

All my life I have lived in fear of the ordinary:

you knew this and waited.

Waited for me to open the doors wide, a long walk, an absence of years.

During this time, pilfering small things.

Looting. Yes.

Something irreplaceable.Yes.

And so many things gone I cannot tell

the extent of my loss: only that I am still losing.

It's running through my fingers towards you.

All the waters trickle down to the floor and move,

as though magnetized, into rivulets,

towards you.

What am I to make of this?