Five Lines Make Fences

I counted the waves one at a time, sometimes two when I could separate my glances. I numbered the pages through twenty, four lines made the posts but the fifth made fences. Sand scattered the pages, stuck to the binding, and I wished for waves to reach me. Just enough to get the hair of my legs to point in the same direction; first up, the pulled out into the ocean. I would hold my notes over my head and shake the sand from them.