The Sneak Thief Poem by Francie Lynch

Standing camouflaged
In the shadow,
Back pressed against
The wall
Like a masked
Cat burglar,
Is the coward,
Sneaking,
Never present
Until gone;
Prowling,
Like sleep,
In playgrounds and hospitals,
Airports and backyard pools,
Near your kettle.
Or by knives, decrees,
Enemies or envy,
Even by longevity
Or
In explosive proximity.

Near death stories
Are not death stories.
If Lazarus had spoken
To the Centurion's daughter,
Would they discuss
Tunnels of light,
Where familiars
Slap your astral ass
As you run the ethereal gamut
Into eternity.

At the moment of recognition,
When the sneak
Is present,
He's gone.