We have gone throughso many revisions of the preludethat we no longer know
Sunday settle of the coal-silted fog the damp cinders couching our slow steps up the hill to their farmhouse Pumpjacks to the east nodding back to the earth
[…]
Crucifixes crowbarred from the apses left their shadows, faint or imagined: a false translation, like the Bibles missionaries stacked along the driveway.
