There was a time when feathers found me like talismans, they came.
Without their soft down, I was grounded, the sparrow thought to lend me flight.
Now, neither up, nor down do my eyes go, for the third eye is my frame.
Flight takes a lonely path, stirred by each wanton wayward breeze.
The sky above is not for me, the spiral path of mystery, my hook, my lure.
Ah, not to choose but taste of both would, I dream, be heaven for me.
Now, within my window’s pane I’ve hung a catcher of dreams
I’ve found a way to fly inward and rise upon the fragile breeze of mind.
Feather’s hang among the circle’s weave, they are the tokens I keep.