A Thief Of Certain Things Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

I am a thief of certain things:
A strand of hair
That flames with a fire
The mere photograph
Of a red dagger
That singes in the high-noon.
The wayward child’s
Brazen ballad
Underneath
A pillow of dreams.

From lost trails
From a hound’s rendezvous
To the uncovered
Secrets of the gods
That laugh
I, in this thievery, with
The tacit fires
Are one.

I am a thief
Of certain things:
A memoir of
A woman.
Her breath upon
My glasses.
The lipstick smear
Engraved on a
Dead cigarette,
The grooves
On the bed
Left after a 20-minute
Fire brigade.
The scent on
The gentle fabric.
Everything
From songs
To words
To numbers
And people,

I am a thief of certain things.
I stole everything
From them
To make myself
Whole.

They let me break
Into their windows,
Even left the keys
Underneath the
Morose grass
A heartless sex of locks
And keys

And I made it there,
Inside
And stole everything
From them

But then
They were thieves
Too.
They did the
Play very
Well.