The road from Damascus

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.