an old writer and his words

  • KANSAI

    I droplets torn from cloud bed cling to edges of windows wanting to grasp, torn free by wind they are pulled clawing backward. II over Osaka pillars of light rise up through holes in the cloudbank, it is gray rain puddling on tarmac built into the bay. III container ships draw fading wake lines on a…

    Lou Faber

  • PROGRESSION

    It is between the pushing away in the pulling back that it happens. It is there that the seasons progress, one to the next. Winter cedes to spring and is, ever reluctantly, replaced by summer. It is there, as well, that the leaf emerges from the bud and reaches into the sky. And feeling the…

    Lou Faber

  • MOURNING ASCENDANT

    When they lowered my grandmother’s casket into the sodden earth, there wasn’t a dry eye or shoulder, or leg around. Sophie would have gotten a good laugh, her children always too busy for a visit getting soaked to the skin, in a cold, windy downpour, all but me, the one she chose to conduct the…

    Lou Faber

  • OT

    Standing in the garden soaking in the sudden downpour Eve turned to Adam and said, “Did you bring the umbrella?” “What’s an umbrella?” Adam asked. “I’m eating the apple” Eve replied.

    Lou Faber