Ethan Paquin

Toward a Shoreline
                      (to be moaned)

come-a walk along the stones

             come-a clear the doe from the highway,
her teeth as small as childrens' chariots


come-a spend your life among the pilings

             come-a far above our little city, come up,
your fear as dulled as garnets


come-a mine this midnight's loudness

             come-a hollow out this pumpkin,
make eyes from mama's amulets



the doe, her eyes as dull as amulets . . .

midnight's little city . . .