an old writer and his words

  • A SEPTEMBER SKY

    Lie back, I said to her,just stare up that waystare into the skywithout any clear focus.Do you see him now,the hunter with his bowoutstretched, the beltcinched about his waistlocked in his eternal searchfor the prey that would free himfrom his nightly quest.And there, I pointedcan you see the great beargamboling with her childor there a…

    Lou Faber

  • SHADOW

    I want to be your shadow,and not in your shadow,but the shadow itself,so that I might be with you,often unnoticed, forgottenbut present in the lightof day and night. It is a closenessI deeply want, withoutintruding, a presenceyou have with you always,for that is what loverscrave in silence, something morefor which they dare not ask.

    Lou Faber

  • COUPLING

    Walking through the art gallery,she frequently pauses to lookat paintings of couples in a baror a cafe, engaged in conversation. I tell her they seem sad, as thoughwhatever romance they hadhas waned, they having grownapart, this a parting of sorts. She laughs and says that I mistakewistfulness for sadness, menso often do, and adds they…

    Lou Faber

  • ANTWERP

    It is seven in the morning Antwerp arises slowing in winter the small bar along seldom used quays of Schelde is almost empty, one old man tottering on his stool swaying to breath head pressed on the counter. Young couple, she brown haired pale white skin against white sweater, he long blond woven into a…

    Lou Faber

  • EXPECTATIONS

    You say you appreciate occasional gifts of symbols of love. You expect me to bring you a rose it’s satin petals gently curling back at the edges, always threatening to suddenly unfold, alluring, drawing in the eye promising warmth and release. I bring you an onion, wrapped tightly, it’s papered skin, the luminescence threatening to…

    Lou Faber

  • MORNING BECOMES

    We awaken and look at each other as though we are meeting for the first time. Your eyes seem new to me, but well remembered, a place I have often been, which is always new, always where I want to go, from which I want to never return. I trace your chin, your shoulder-blade, and…

    Lou Faber

  • DEMONS

    In the night there are no demons, just the sound of your breathing, and your soft touch on my back, your foot against my calf.

    Lou Faber