Terra Firma

i ain't much for the ocean,

the way it's always grabbing at you

trying to pull you to its breast

like an old smelly aunt 

enfolding you in her undulation

the swampy smell and the way your hair

never gets truly clean or untangled

too much stink

too much seaweed and fish piss and

gelatinous creatures washing up on shore

the way it lures you in by acting calm

then cold cocking you when you think you're safe

and dragging you off to parts unknown

miles below the slick calm surface

if it must be water then

give me a wide, slow, fresh river or

the hustle of rapids, leaping over rocks,

conspicuous, not at all stealthy

a river is less grabby

though not to be fully trusted

give me red dirt and rolling hills

cicadas and a field of queen anne's lace

chiggers and all

fur and feathers, not slippery scales

give me mountains and forest

a billion years of layers

with life teeming in every fracture and fault

the breeze, the green, the cycles of nature

i ain't much for the ocean

i can love your mountains, your heights, your hills

i can't handle your depths.