Poem: Thief


You said all the best poets steal
and I believe you. But I can’t help
but feel like there’s an addendum
somewhere in there, a clue
left behind in one of our friend’s
sketchbooks, a doodle or a smudge
of sage lightly traced through
with a fingertip or with glitter glue
and it’s waiting to be discovered
underneath a crumpled Pizza Hut
receipt or on a flash drive or maybe
even bottled up inside a tiny bottle
of tiny rocks placed beside the altar,
which no one will ever, ever take.
Go ahead. It’s ours to borrow now.
Let’s try and find everything we can.

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