The Ten-Toed Signature

Briny, wrapped in the toweling wind and sun,
along the seaweed track I trot alone
where seas trowel back, trowel back, foaming and black,
smoothing a pavement for my signature
in delicate ten-toed pentameter.
Sniggering seas slip back, fawning and slack,
laying a carpet for me with an air
obsequious, a carpet to nowhere
I know. I am not fooled; behind my back
seas pull the rug out, pull the past out, pull
the footprints out. I dance the crumbling floor
between false waters and the fickle shore.