How many legs means one?

I met him on a boat
with a vest on
that curled up underneath my chin
like I was drowning in plastic
He had grey crinkled hair and
his skin was smooth from the salt air
he glowed as bright as child
He told me I was born to die at sea
Smiling, reassuringly
He said it was just like being encased in crystal, if I would let it be

When he was gone, I looked up at my Dad and told him
I was born to die at sea
and he of course said, “Don’t think of such things”
But every time I crunch along the coastline
the painted wood slats and the constantly opening and unfurling
the salt air that kills and refreshes
my skin starts to peel
and my lungs ache as they die and are reborn again
What I find so lovely and disturbing are
The molecules in the ocean
The legs that search along the shore
Each chaotic moment 
I was born to die at sea

Copyright © a contemplation (Emily Jones) 2013. All rights reserved.