Afraid of her waves,
I steer into the trees,
fashion a humble nest
of shattered oars n’ leaves.
Teach oldies to the birds,
the mice, the harmonies,
and squander afternoons
hiding from 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 n’ misfortune.
to discover gods can be
both frightened n’ broken.

Afraid of her waves,
I crash into the moon,
bug the man who lives inside—
he’s a bit of a recluse—
with questions surrounding
how the ocean moves.
He bellies, how my head aches!
But I know it's just a bruise.

Afraid of her waves,
I spin off seven rings,
sling-shot out this galaxy
on black n’ speckled wings,
tumble through a universe
where no n’ every-thing
look so eerily the same,
my little boat begins to sing.

Afraid of her waves,
I row straight into Hell,
where waves crumble down,
where boats sail themselves.
At long last, I scale her,
nearly gobbled by her swell!
Proudly peek over my shoulder,
and find the sea stands ever still.