I stole Birds

On some mornings I stole birds.

I opened my eyes
and robbed the day of its disorder.

Ran like a thunderstorm into crowds
to silence the vrooms and honks;
I absorbed the frequencies of sound like thick glass.

I raised my voice.

On some mornings
I freed the birds
and hid in sound pollution.
I laid the fragile songs in their cot
and inbreathed emptiness.
I wandred vast, barren wastelands
and embraced the stiff bushes.

On some mornings
I didn't want to be heard.