the water tower looms, and i approach,
small steps then longer strides. why,
percussive, why? no answers now – not
with why-drums beating rapid rhythms,
not with humid air and heavy legs and
the horizon tacked in place, refusing
to near.

except
i will lie, later, in a quiet bed and hear
why-not-drums beating rapid rhythms
if i slow; the well-rested will not rest well
knowing what strength remained
in their untried legs.

the long pier looms, and i approach, undaunted,
reminded now that all shores are traversable
with will and well-fitting sneakers.

there is no other way home for me from anywhere
but from the water tower
to the long pier.