For Davi...
There are people
walking around all day
with broken hearts.
I hear them creaking
like weathered shutters
in a light breeze,
then battering down
in a rush
of chipped paint,
rusted hinges, and
faith.
There are people
walking around all day
with flowers
for mouths, and hands
made of feathers.
They drop words
in the wind, syllables
fall
into cracks, float
away. I feel
them cool on my skin
across town.
There are people
walking around all day
surprised
by kindness.
As if the last great
good
were from the hand of
god
Herself.
Their brows wrinkling
in distrust. Is any
act
truly
selfless?
There are people
walking around all day
in bodies they
never belonged to, but
all the parts
are there:
table
floorboards
roof
doors.
The windows are open.
The plumbing works
fine.
The garden out back
bears just enough fruit
for the aching
quiet
flower
of the heart
flower
of the heart
to break
scattering seeds.
There are people
walking…
There,
do you see?
With petals stuck to
the soles
of their shoes?
