I see you steer towards the jetty. I've seen you veer towards unsteady. Eyes laced with a dazed look, mind laced up. Race towards the horizon: a headstrong turn from land to lake. What is it that motivates? A bridge too near. An oblique strategy on a dull day. But now it's real (and I'm fuming). Grabbing for a handle, door not budging. Water leaking, windows cracking. This is happening. (Get used to it.) These days, crabs pick our bones clean. It's a quiet life, I can't complain!