Afraid of her waves, I steer into the trees, fashion my nest From the oars and leaves. Teach oldies to the birds, mice, the harmonies, squander afternoons waiting for the breeze.
Afraid of her waves, I fly toward the heavens to roam with pilgrims crying rivers and oceans. I listen to their stories of ruin and misfortune. And discover boats can be both frightened and broken.
Afraid of her waves, I crash into the moon, bug the man inside, a bit of a recluse, with questions rounding How the ocean moves. He bellies of an ache, But I know it's just a bruise.
Afraid of her waves, I spin off seven rings slingshot out this galaxy on black and speckled wings, tumble through a universe where no and everything look so eerily the same that my boat begins to sink.
Afraid of her waves, I row anywhere else until walls crumble down until oars row themselves. When I scale her summits, gobbled by her swell, I peek over my shoulder where the sea, she's ever still.