I can feel it down to my knees.
It terrifies me to fidgets.  
Not like that serial-killer-
chasing-my-pure-as-the-wind-driven-snow-***-
aroun­d-some-secluded-farmhouse-
in-the-middle-of-the-night-
when-I-hav­e-the-least-possible-chance-of-survival
kind of “terrify.”

I compare this kind of “terrify” to
the first time I set eyes on the Atlantic.
A hushed minute—
my eyes straining to see the end
of that blue on blue horizon.
And I’m
so filled with wonderment
at the thought of such a treacherous beauty—
I think, without question,
the idea of it all will surely swallow me whole.

Truth is
I'd jump right down that throat
without a single hesitation
if I knew the feeling would stick.
Truth is
I stay put—
because I know
that just because you plant a seed
doesn't mean it wants to grow.