There Are People

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

to break

scattering seeds.

There are people walking…

There,

do you see?

With petals stuck to the soles

of their shoes?