Germany

In every town, a steepled church
A cabbage farm
A factory
Walls that lean on neighbors
Due to the faulty eyes of bricklayers
Or the settling of time

And closer to the tracks
A dense consort of tiny homes
With tiny yards
And wiry dogs snuffling along the hedgerows

The illustrated stone facades
Of outbuildings long left to rot
Kept company by impatient teenagers
And impetuous girlfriends

Sometimes balconies
Sometimes warmth
But sometimes a large lit box
Where tinkering workers add tires
To another crop of cars
As a fog creeps perilously closer