Was I a mollusk? Who will I become?

Brittle shells --
worn down to the holes
deserted homes,
their owners reborn as gulls.
Or maybe one of those
soft boneless bodies that are gone
was mine.
I can imagine being a mollusk
--sweet and salty glistening muscle.

I walk along the shore line,
look at the sun
through the green glass
broken a few years ago,
sharp corners
smoothened out by time.

My thoughts intertwine
with ribbons of seaweed
reflecting in the layer of the sky
left by the tide to dry and disapper,
to soak into the sand
and shadows beneath,
to crunch under my feet
like fresh snow.

I don't leave footprints
but I walk for walking,
not to leave a meaningful set
of precious allegories.
Whatever I was,
whoever I will be,
I am looking mostly forward
except maybe
for a quick glance
on the rising sun
through the onrushing green wave.