There is no wall.
Only the river
on three sides
and the one road
in and out of it all.
Walk under the covered walks
where the men walk
to and from
everything they do.
A man will show you
the bear he sewed,
the bike he built
for a child
he does not know.
The men built
a Catholic church
in thirty-nine days.
God is easy to find here.
He said he would be.
He stays.
On death row
there is a pickleball court.
In the library
the men sing
what they know.
One of them will tell you
the drugs get in anyway.
He will say that Jesus,
not the meetings,
gets a man sober,
and the men
hold the meetings
anyway.
On Sundays in October
there is a rodeo.
A man who has behaved
can ride a bull
in front of his son
who waves.
Five hundred dollars
if he pulls the red ball
off its head.
The crowd will pay
to watch him fall.
He will get up
to see his son
smile after all.
Sixty bunks line a room.
Not one is a mess.
A man here can sleep
whenever he wants.
He cannot rest.
Most of them did one thing
once.
The state answers with a number,
and the number is life.
They will laugh with you.
They will sing.
They will tell you God is good
and mean it.
You will not understand
how a man carries this.
You do not have to.
You are free to smile and nod
or hate them
for what they did,
or not.
Drive out.
No one will stop you.
There is no wall.