Paintbox Souls

Some souls
are paintboxes, walking.
They jostle brown paper souls in passing
and unsettle them,
interrupting tea
with the stroke of a single bright wingtip,
a flutter-
a restless word;
and after the paintbox is gone singing away
and tea can be resumed
the brown paper soul
finds it has been decorated;
a filigree here,
a flower painted there;
and for a joyful moment,
it admires the new colors-
slowly realizing
it has been changed forever
by the brush.