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.

Peace Circle

        [Maya Lin's Peace Chapel, Huntingdon, Pa.]

Each hour of peace improves us
Under hours of peace ahead.
By whatever device we are led
To peace of mind, peace enclosed
In stone, left behind where each,
Alone, may go and cast a  shadow,
Wave hello on a street or hilltop,
We meet the hours of peace to be
And know they will not stop.

Autumn

A roar radiates over me.
The leaves sound like the sea.
Wind begins where galaxies
Stir, revolve, emit time
In which events dissolve and,
On days like these, twist the
Topmost branches of our trees.

Discretion

 

The cloud around
A rattling kettle lid
Is inattention.
Not all I know
Concerns me,
But I must mind
The burner, adjust,
Learn order,
Depute some trust
To hands and heart,
Feel liberty
And think of thought
As art.

Detached Vine

A light trellis snapped
In a bit of twisting wind--
Once something happens
Its shape is held, and
Held also by what did
Not happen and doesn't end.
What remains is not
Misshapen, but surplus,
As all events, all
Directions include us.

Bug Eye Glasses

They hold light in too.
Each rainbow unattended is
Begun and ended anew
In her brain, by
Seamless maths
And what remains is
A garden where
Spectra were.
On this path, one becomes
A gardener to
Work beside her.