Abigail, the shore is frozen   Our tar trails have been bulldozin' down   Your sharpened frown   Once had me possessed      Do you recall the crippled summer?   Your fam'ly all was in deep slumber   And oh how I loved their ways   When Leland's haze still lingered   On my shadow      Your brother he didn't have to die   Your mother she didn't have to cry   Your father didn't have to ask why   Summer was on your chest   As your eyes glow      All our drugstore lawns blew cool so fast   The mill was never built to last   The tort'rous thrill of sweating grass   Is this town's only sorrowed   Trampled blanket      And if I was branded to your foyer   Through passing carpenters and lawyers   Agrarians and God's own soldiers   I would never make it      Do you still dream of dangerous hotels   Wrapped in glares and daffodil smells   With your barefeet buried in weeds?      I still dream of snarled backyards   And being chased through nighttime's discards   Where my fence reddens, rusts, and bleeds      And the curbs are haunted by the killers   Of memories of your back pillars   Where nothing wakens as it seems      All our rooms are hopeful mornings   Left like tombs when nights are swarming   And branching feathers fan our dreams      And your star was the saddest symbol   Flickered with your mother's thimble   Pitiful and sunsoaked soggy   Beautiful inside the muggy   Ashamed of our bodies in the stream      Ah but Spring's dumbed voice is just like yours   And if I had a choice I'd do my chores   And my work would dumbfound   The restlessness found in you      And no one else could understand the truth   Of the soil burning back to youth   It's just something that we found   But now it all thaws damp around you      And the streets are dry and bare, but they're humming   The rooftops where the air stops coming down   To listen for the sound   Of the tests that surround you   Abigail      I said, "Abigal the shore is frozen!"   Our tar trails, they're all bulldozen now   Your bygone sounds are cidada-bound,   They're so shrilling, and night-smoke tarry,   You should spill them into the starry,   They are children, and no one's sorry.