ah, to feel the sea
to be as one with the sea,
to talk to her,
one must, must
sail past Cape Hatteras
in the night where
‘tis never calm:
the seas always building
to a frenzy,
the winds a’ whipping
like a banshee screaming,
the ship a’ pitching and a rolling
like it ain’t gonna stop rolling over
until
past the point of no return;
the white caps dominating the seascape;
the torrent of salt water plunging
down the weather decks
worse than the most violent
flood surge of the Mississippi;
the sailors around turning pallid
taking turns upchucking over
the port or starboard sides
and
in the middle of the fear and panic
understanding comes
and
she, the sea, talks to you,
tells you in a way no one else can hear
this is her way
to allow you to acknowledge
she is the sea.

peace will follow
and
you will rest easy
at sea.