The misdirected sprinkler fills the cracks
that split the sidewalk into matching squares.
Its trickle inexorable attacks
and courses slowly, building water stairs.
I see it push through gutters to a drain;
it bulges sluggish sweeping leaves ahead.
Like raindrops running down a windowpane,
it joins itself to form a fluid thread.

As certain as the water must obey
the silent calls of gravity and heat,
that sure am I (with work) to earn my way
to all I seek – improvement that’s discrete
and personal, attempted every day,
till I’m as cured and tempered as concrete.