First daily poem of January 8, 2010

I've been reading Rumi. Trying to learn how to walk in circles with happiness.

Thief

I say this isn’t me
but the rose gold wristlet
on the floor of the thrift
store says otherwise,
a little gold snake beneath
a dark and downy cloud— medium
women’s winter jackets.

Acedia: the frenzy of need
that believes in itself. Without
thinking I kneel, palm the bracelet.
All day, like a karmic bell it rings
in my pocket beside my hip.

The next day I go back
to who I was. It’s embarrassing,
the clerk’s straight stare. Is she trying
to comprehend my happiness?

I go home. No ringing.
I write this poem about a thief.