In the air licked indifferently by the fog
Wedged in different timelines
The same twice – but not quite
Branches pull those wings
While tickled by some falling twigs
You are only amused by how
Low you decide to fly each time
One of the many times
A Blind Bird
There's no sky, just stars.
A Blind Bird 
A fascinating poem. Each tiume I read it it makes me see it differently. Nice!
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Thank you very much! I wonder which image you finally settled with. : )
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I think being caught between expectations and reality and always ending up disappointing or being disapponted.
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I love that interpretation! Poetry sure is magic. 🙂
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