Becalmed for so long, we forget
the journey. We play games

of chance, succumb to trivial
pursuits, speak only gossip.

Supplies are dwindling. We can’t stay here
and we can’t leave.

Never mind. Glitter on the water and rum,
threat of the brig, chess, flying fish,

somebody always humping somebody.
We turn our thoughts from what we cannot do.

It’s been so long, we would welcome
even a storm, waves bigger than the ship,

terror. Instead we must wait, it seems,
endlessly. The dolphins pity us.

They’re free to go, and we envy them,
looking back at us with their great grave eyes.

From time to time one of us joins them,
diving ecstatically. Death is a place to go.

Lately though, something is different.
Thunder rumbling. Puffs of hot breeze,

ominous. Useless sails above us,
we wager blackly, couple without passion.

Late at night we toss and turn,
anxious, desperate for distraction,

hearing the dark sea slap at the ship.
Oh take us, move us, God of the deep!

We must have change, but we fear it.
Could life be worse than this? Much worse?

The wind of the future approaches.
It will blow away foolishness like foam.

We still might get to where we need to go,
or all dive with the dolphins, but we will move.

Trim the sails, shipmates.
The wind is rising.