What Doors Are For

Do we worship the sky through
A hole in the roof or step
Outside in search of proof?
Or find doors to walk past--
A beginning orchestra class
Of squeals and drumbeats,
Screams, bleats of instruments
Being slaughtered, from which
Will come music someday--
Under roiling winds that
Play over a new language
Escaped at doors and swirled
Under clouds in a new world.

Til Tuned

Formal hedges are
Only Uniform to a
Degree.
Between edges
Are floral lives,
Tropism, thought and
Space solved in
Deformity.
Where care
Includes conformity
It is vaguely disturbing
To be anyone.