Vanishing Point
The fingers only fly
When the wrist and mind
Are like the single eye
Of a hurricane,
Blind and asleep within
All that sweeps around,
But advancing in a direction
Of which they’re well aware.
To turn the eye on the wind
Blows it all away.
It watches but what it sees
Is deeper still within,
Far beyond the keys.
(Appeared first in Commonweal)
by Bruce Berger on Wednesday, June 20, 2007
