Sea And Semantron

I haven't traveled to
A silent island, or found
Sound frozen in unrung
Bells, but feel the sort
Of roaring order quells,
Quiets into footprints
In the sand and watch
As care and fear
Run out of land.

Forest Geometry

I have taken down this sad dead tree

And defined what it means

To me --warmth in my sixty-fourth winter

And decidedly more: center formed

Along a line moving amid time and trees;

Light to open night and set itself free.

Rock Point 3 a.m.

 [Davidphoto of Geo. Doodle]

An electric path--
To be what one was
At trailhead in
Night-sea crossing--
Under the moon
Between black crashes,
Incandescent corridor
Of not-to-be and west
Away from memory.
Something takes flight,
Swift, silver.
Rest of me turns east
And out of night.