I would never steal the words out of your mouth,
but I am a deceptive listener
I notice the laws of gravity when your words drop
at the end,
swoop around you where your shoulders sag
with brave intentions
Last week I took the finch that sang a broken song,
and today the wildflower seeds struggling
in the dirt of poverty
Some days I try to nudge a herd of windblown horses
into hard plowed pastures
I see them kicking rows that have hardened to ruts,
until it is all soft earth
Some days I take your breaking voice
and layer it with feathers
I am stealing with the gift of re-giving,
again and again