From my master’s fishing boat deck, they took me.
Coiled there a month, I’d witnessed countless catches.
Today’s hands were strange – not those for mooring
nor staying of sails, no riggers of wind.
My three interwoven strands were stretched fast
to harder wood, pulled until slack purchase reigned.
Some unhappy haul without sea breeze – no fish,
yet command voice and blood smell entered my fibers.
Hanging for seeming eternity, at last I was removed.
Placed aboard a new vessel, I warm with salt and light – unwound.