(first appeared in “Mind in Motion  -winter 1991)

We are merely vessels of blind talent.
We have no visions of truth.
we see only as far as our hands:
strong and skilled,
hungry to touch and make and possess.
Holding and hoarding, we claim ownership.
We grip all that our feelers find,
yet grasp nothing.

We claim the light of wisdom in our darkness;
pointing to our accomplishments.
Yet the mysteries we solve are not mysterious,
just the solid object of physical fact,
stumbled upon in pride.

With unguided fingertips we fumble our surroundings,
reshaping the clay we trip over,
building newer and better monuments to our blindness,
crushing city after city to build one house.

And oh, do we sing:
our horns tire from the blowing!
And ever so boldly we march to the beat,
banging our heads,
trying to quench the thirst for tools;
hands screaming for occupation,
minds moaning for light.

There is no questioning our proficiency,
we are able to do all that we are called upon to do.
But in our blindness, we hear only ourselves.
We would be better to do nothing,
if only that were possible.

There was a time when we didn’t notice the damage:
yearning to climb, but unable to see under foot,
but now jagged bits of destruction puncture our
outstretched hands,
yet we continue our groping,
singing songs to a light we can’ t possibly know,
yet still claim to possess.