The empty port that keeps calling me back

I'm standing on a pier that was decommissioned years ago, and the water is so still it sounds like a held breath. Every buoy is where I left it, but the ropes are slack, and I keep checking them anyway — the way you'd check on something that doesn't need you anymore. There's a bell on the last piling that rings with no wind. I wake up before I decide whether that's a comfort or a warning.