I forget his name.

 

And all I’ve got from the one time we met is a blurry photo of one of his paintings.

He lived outside of Austin

In a summer-camp style habitat where they sent homeless creatives

Dozens of little log cabins with bad light

 

I’d been taken there by a friend who wanted to show me the place

As we were walking through its caliche streets a bearded hobo looking fellow said “hey!” then flashed some sign with his hands and my friend said that it was the sign of the Thracians.

We went over to him and my friend said hello this is my friend, Tom, he is a writer

And the man said “I paint.” then turned to go to his cabin.

 

We followed him in.

Inside the dark shelter a few dozen canvases lay all about. He said, “I wrote something the other day that I’d like to read to you.” From a pile of stuff on his small twin sized mattress he retrieved a yellow notepad and began to read something brilliant that lost its balance the further it ascended into heaven. Then Gabriel said I have a poem I’d like to read and he walked up the grassy hill just outside the cabin while we stayed out on the porch looking up at him. His poem was about two cranes and a woman he loved but never had the courage to speak to. I had never heard Gabriel read his poems. I was greatly effected. Then the hobo said he’d like to show us some of his paintings. He painted scenes of nature. Rivers, lakes, meadows, cedar and pine hill country forests. His use of colour was - enter beautiful word - One in particular caught my eye. I asked if we could take it out into the sunlight. He said okay and set it on a chair on the porch where the sun shone directly on it. While him and Gabriel talked about his daughter I took out my phone and snapped a photo. Then I asked if he wanted to sale it and he looked at me and said three hundred bucks. I did not have three hundred bucks. We said so long and a few months later Gabriel called and said …