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Description
deSable was a mariner; the ocean was his passion.
Like the shore he bounded her, defined her, let her rage
against those borders, always giving ground but never yielding,
saw in her a woman he would love but never serve.
He gazed upon her vast expanse with full respect, acknowledging
how easily she'd swallow him, but never feeling terror
at her crashing waves' indifferent violence, or the crushing pressure
of her midnight depths, the many teeth of those residing there.
Her face to him was ever new, but also as familiar as his own.
Her moods both deep and fey he cherished; intimate were they.

He felt no need to test himself against her awesome strength,
did not content but questioned her, in time became her partner,
rode before each squall till it was spent, exulting in the power
of the storm, and rested, sated, in the calm that followed.
Her voice he heard in breaking waves and seagulls' raucous cries.
Her rising winds to him called invitation, 'Come and play again!'
Her consciousness he sensed in every wave that rocked his boat.

The ocean loved deSable, treasured his unawed respect,
his spirit ever ready for her every whim or fancy,
his willingness to give his best and never ask for quarter.
She loved to hear his laughter as he rode her great tsunami,
the songs he sang while straining at the wheel as she was battering
his tiny ship with hurricanes. So joyfully she bore him
all across her many seas, to share with him her deep and restless spirit.

deSable knew his ocean, loved her far too well to ever
wish to see her tamed; he matched her fiercest passion with his own.
Her wildness stirred in him a spirit primitive and proud,
one which had no need of boats, but sought his soul-mate in her depths,
greeted her at every shore she pounded, rode her cyclones,
blew with her the bitter northeast wind that drives the mariners indoors.

When finally deSable ventured forth, never returning,
there were some who believed a sudden storm had claimed his life,
were sure that he had once too often tempted the great deep.
But one old salt, who'd often sailed aboard deSable's ship,
said, "Nay, she'll never harm him. She may be to you and me
a fickle bitch and callous, but to him she's friend and lover.
No, I say she's finally accepted his proposal;
Guy deSable's gone to make an honest woman of the sea."