Becalmed

she floats unbound
unmoored.
her sails hang sad and limp
with no one at the helm.
she’s going nowhere.
lost and lacking wind
with no hard hand to
force her home
or steer her into harbors
strange and wild
she lies becalmed.
if ships dared dream
she’d conjure a familiar form,
a vessel drawing close,
a chain thrown round her
willing prow, a will now
sacrificed with joy to
he who claimed control.
she does not dream.
she merely stays
silently stranded
and waits for spring.