Like A Thief in the Night

by Lance Larsen

My toes fear gangrene, my testicles fear cancer.
My fingers grow nervous around knives

what if I could never pet another stray, never
again finesse Chopin on a crisp afternoon?

My veins worry a rogue blood clot will cut loose,
pinballing its way to the top of the tower.

My twitchy legs brood at never taking this wreck
of bone spurs for a hike around the lake.

Meanwhile, my spirit says, don’t sweat it, team.
You’ll return to ashes and dust for a time,

and I’ll wander the earth like the ghost I am.
I’ll swoop and dip and climb and pirouette,

sundog the sky, dog leg the forbidden city.
Yes, I’ll pass through glass, glisten on lapping

waves, bless the viscera of quartered cows,
cozy up with popes and princesses. But soon

I’ll grow tired of spreading myself thin as ozone
and napping in nests. And start pining for

the lovely slosh of flesh. Give me dimension
and weight again, the chance to splash in gangly

lusts. Someday sky’s quickening breath will kiss
us back to life, ah reunion, then whoosh

us into time thick and time forever, like a girl
swimming her doll through peach blossom air.

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