The road lies behind the grayness
called trees, graveled white
as it accompanies the river,
the river clear in crystalled
greenness. I see Paul walking
among the trees, holding a thorn,
the man’s arm around
his shoulders. Paul is weeping.
This poem was written March 3, 2013, at Laity Lodge in the Hill Country of Texas. The photograph was taken from the balcony of the lodge overlooking the Frio River.