the palm of my right foot

The palm of my right foot kisses the sand

where the crabs used to sing hymns to my sea.

As my leg lowers down from the pier,

so my limbs can carry me

back to the tides, I try to stand on the knives

that I feel when my legs try to work

as a human’s does.

How long do I have left until I’m but a cluster of sea foam?