IN THE WETLANDS

Walking through a nature preserve
like Wakodahatchee Wetlands you
must always keep a sharp eye.

The birds are everywhere, they are
unavoidable and even the alligators,
imagining themselves coy are

soon enough easily recognized,
snouts appear just above the surface
wary eyes scanning the shore.

Here you are also surrounded
by poems, but they are far more
able to hide, among the eggs

the wood stork carefully tends,
in the purple iridescence
of the gallinule, trailing behind

the uplifting wings of the great
blue heron as she lifts skyward,
and in the spray of feathers

the snowy egrets dangle always
drawing our eyes like a bride’s
diaphanous veil, but we, at

a loss for words in the midst
of all of this, cannot see them
awaiting us to give them flight

PRAYER

We bow our heads
and utter words
not to the cicada
speaking through
a spring night
or the beetle
crawling slowly
across the leaf
searching for the edge.
We bid the crow
silent, the cat mewling
his hunger and lust
to crawl under a porch
awaiting morning,
the child to sleep.
The stream flows
slowly by, carrying
a blade of grass
and the early fallen leaf.

Published in The Raven’s Perch (August 3, 2020)
https://theravensperch.com/prayer-by-louis-faber/

NATURE REMINDS

Last night, all the romantic
comedies worth watching
on Amazon and Netflix having
already been seen, many twice

we had no choice but to opt
for a coming of age tale on Netflix
accompanied by the mellifluous
tones of Sir David Attenborough.

In my dreams last night there was
a debate between the Gentoo
and Emperor Penguins as to which
was the more enrapturing,

and a Greek chorus of krill suggested
neither was worth our time or effort,
but the pod of Right Whales ended
their incessant commentary.

As I awoke to the cry of the limpkin
he reminded me that the ice cap
is ever shrinking thanks to my
kind, so I had best learn a few dirges.

MIRRORS

Each morning I drag myself
from bed, slowly engage my legs,
and amble into the bathroom
where I peer into the mirror.
Each morning I am surprised
that I am the same as I was
they day before, and yet the mirror
by all appearances,
has grown another day older.
It is, I suppose, the nature
of mirrors to age, sadly for them,
and as I turn away each morning
I wish the mirror a good day,
certain that it cannot help
but mourn its ever increasing age.

DIVING

He circles carefully
constantly adjusting altitude
expanding and contracting
his orbits in great increments.
His each move is calculated
that much is obvious.
And you watch him with
a deep fascination. You
are not the only watcher
this day, at this time, others
peer up as he plunges downward
breaking the surface, his head
appearing, thrown back, consuming
what ever it is he plucked.
While I stand watching
the anhinga on the shore
of the pond makes it clear
he finds the pelican
the least graceful
of all his distant kin.

RETURNING

Time has no role to play in any of this.
Time isn’t pleased by the prospect,
it prefers to be ever present, ever
escaping, even as it is arriving.
It is quirky that way.
It is constant yet it loves
to give the impression of being variable.
Einstein noted this, and anyone
returning from a long drive is
aware the return is always the shorter trip.
Unless, of course, you suffer
from a bad back, then time
really has the last laugh.

MINNESOTA

The night fully settles
over northern Minnesota
in the sky grows dark
as the stars make
their reluctant appearance.
Peering through the tall grasses
of the wetlands abutting the road
1000 stars are born
and die in an instant
only to be reborn again
repeatedly, until
they are replaced by
the beetles that accompany
the slowly rising sun.

NATURALIA NON SUNT TURPIA

When did we stop being of the soil
and begin to fear it, to tell our children
not to touch the ground, it is dirty
where once it was only dirt, and we
put in our mouths, from time to time
if only to drive our mothers crazy.
She says if you are going to plant
wear gloves, and when she walks away
I pull them off my hands and plunge
fingers into the turned and dampened soil.
This, I am convinced, is how it is
supposed to be, how nature intended,
before designer dyed mulch, rubber mulch
before we became the robots
our parents’ sci-fi writers anticipated.
Later, in the shower, scraping the dirt
from beneath fingernails, I watch
as it flows reluctantly down the drain
I bid farewell to that bit of my childhood
but I swear I won’t deny my grandchildren.

BUDDHA NATURE

A singe egret sits calmly
on the lowest branch of a long

barren tree, where hours from now
a thousand birds will arrive
for still another evening and night.

He stares at me as I am mindfully
vacuuming, watching carefully.

I pause and ask if by chance he
is a Buddha and he lifts his long neck
and peers around in all directions.

I repeat my question, and he
lifts one wing, which I know
to be his way of saying, “I,
like you, am imbued with Buddha
nature, and I with mother
nature as well, and if you doubt me
ask one of the countless
Bodhisattva who will arrive
in hours to study the Dharma
well into what will be a wet night.

APART-IAL EXPLANATION

It is all to often debated
what sets humans apart
the other species, and that
will not be agreed any time soon
(which a cynic would note
is one such thing itself).

Freud would claim it is only
our ego, our sense of self,
which may explain why people
are so capable of being self-
ish, and I suspect he was
certain he was wholly correct
but I would give him only partial credit.

It is far simpler than that: record
your voice, record a Sandhill
crane and play them back
and I assure you that you
will say you sound nothing
like what the recorder heard
while the crane will nervously
look all around for his unseen kin.