Admit coming upon the fallen horse at evening, now asleep but withered, now reducing as you near, now
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.
