Cat Burglar Poem by Charl JF Cilliers

Only difficult heights
are a challenge:
there is no rush of blood
in entering through
a ground-floor window or door.

The lock-pick slips in
like a word that fits,
the sound barely a whisper
that no one would notice.

You catch your breath,
move with subtlety, stealth,
each step
placed carefully.

Once inside, you know
what is there is yours
to take,
while around you in
the dark all
are in a deep
and soundless sleep.