Is it a bird?

Is it a bird, if it cannot fly?
If it is stuck to paper 
and made of paint, 
but you can see its 
Potential,
does it live?
I see faces
In maps of far away lands
in stucco and cracks on the wall,
with emotion, personality, attitude.
Our minds look for patterns,
and find them,
even where they don't belong.

The Door Slams Shut

The door slams shut.
They never stay down there for long.
Too small,
Too low to the ground,
The damp seeps,
The mold grows,
The spiders creep.
The door slams shut.
Good only for a respite,
A breather,
A bearings gather.
The door slams shut.
Moving in or out?
Coming or going?
The door slams shut.
They leave, we remain
above,
listening.
The door slams shut.