My voice is just a croak today so there’s no audio recording. Here’s the poem only in text.
Delayed for many hours, I decided to follow a bird from airport gate to gate as it searched for an escape. It didn't rush. It sometimes perched for ten or fifteen minutes on the high architectural beams and angles. Was it afraid? Despondent? I don't know. I won't guess at bird-emotions. But I felt like an airport monk silently practicing a new feathered ceremony. Then I wondered if somebody was following me as I followed the bird. But, no, I was the only adherent of that temporary theology. Dear Bird, my avian abbot, it's been a decade but I still think of you in your airport solitude. You were small, radiant, and probably doomed.
Small, radiant, and probably doomed... I can relate.
A few days after you posted this, I was in an airport and a bird flew over me. I wonder how often the end up in airports?