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Doors



We want doors in our trees,
but do we want to go in or come out?
Both, certainly, but one more than the other?
We build wide doors shaped like no one,
but all true doors only pass one pattern.
Doors are not always doors,
don't always open, don't always close.
I am on one side of every door in the world.
There is much on the side where I am;
there is more on the other.
There are thresholds and there are locks.
The doors in trees are not ours.
The trees are not ours.
There are hinges and there are knobs.

All poems are written and copyrighted by Michael C. Rush.
None may be republished or repurposed without permission.