an old writer and his words

  • CONVERSING

    What we will never understandis that a wolf howling at the moonis engaged in a conversation, the silencewe hear is the moon’s answer to the wolf.We never stop to fully listen,for in silence much is said by naturethat our self-imposed deafnessto all but our kind forces us to ignore.In silent dreams entire worlds open upand…

    Lou Faber

  • CAMERA OBSCURED

    People stand in awelooking at what Ansel Adams’camera saw on those magical days.I am an outlier, for althoughI am struck by the beautyHis photographs offer my eyes,the stark play of light and dark,how shadows define a world,that is not what I wishthat I could see, for I wantnothing more than to seewhat Ansel Adams sawwith…

    Lou Faber

  • MESA

    This nightin cold moonlightearth rises upclouds float downghosts walk the margin.Old ones singnow shall be thenolder ones still singthen shall be onceto wolf and coyote.In this season of north windssun’s heat barrenspirits rise updreams descendman lies interspersed.Women singwe are bearersmen singwe are sowers. First appeared in Dipity, Vol. 3, April 2023

    Lou Faber

  • THE SAINT OF UNCOUNTED NAMES

    A desert again,always a desertand she the saintof uncounted names,her crying eases, nosmile appears for thisMadonna of the coyotes,her orange-orbed eyesshuttered against theslowly retreating sun.Once her tears wateredthe desert sands, mixedwith the blood of a Christnow long forgotten, trans-substantiated into a spiritwe formed in our image,no longer we in his.The Blessed Motherwatches, holding hope,holding space,…

    Lou Faber

  • ONE DAY

    We stood trapped betweenslack-jawed and reverentlooking at the woman sittingcross-legged outside the doorwaylovingly fashioning a pot,her gnarled fingers gentleon the yielding clay. Others this day fashionedrings and pendantssimple tools on silverand one of a kind treasuresthey would lay outon blankets hoping wewould want morethan just a photograph. Our day on the Taos Puebloended too early,…

    Lou Faber

  • ON THE MESA

    On the mesa you can step outsideand look up at the sky,clouds building mountainsthat threaten to eat the sun,swallow the moon whole. On the mesa you can step outsideand feel incredibly small,listen to the coyotes withthe ears of scared children,unable to run like the jackrabbit. On the mesa you can step outsideand look up at…

    Lou Faber

  • WHERE? EXACTLY!

    In Yuma, Arizona today, I have no idea what might have happened. Once, without going to a library and rummaging through microfiche in the dust laden corner of the second basement, I would never be able to find out. And if I did, I would wonder why there was not some simpler way of finding…

    Lou Faber

  • MEMORY

    We were told the average background color of the universe was turquoise.  She said “that’s because a coyote ripped it from the mountains outside Cerrillos.  But now they say it’s actually a shade of dark beige, drying mud colored.”  It was a glitch in the software, the astronomers said.  The coyote was unmoved. She sits…

    Lou Faber

  • FOOTHILLS

    The clouds well upover the foothillscasting a gray pall,bearing the angry spiritsof the chindi who danceamid the scrub juniper.Brother Serra, was thiswhat you found, wanderingalong the coast, tendingthe odd sheep, Indianand whatever elsecrossed your path? The blue birdhopping across the dried grassespuffing its grey breastplate and capesitting back, its long tail feathersa perfect counterbalance.It stares…

    Lou Faber

  • MELODY

    I sing a shattered songof someone else’s youththe melody forgottenthe words faded into oddsyllables heard in my dreams.The coyote stands at the edgeof a gully staring at meand wondering why I slipfrom the hogan throughthe hole punchedin the back wallslinking awayin the encroaching dark.The priest, his saffron robespulled tight around his legsin the morning chill,stares…

    Lou Faber