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.
As if new Jersey were Babylon, an Argentine and an Israeli argue in Aramaic, Styrofoam cups of instant coffee warm in their hands,
