one-armed handstand on the water

A long time ago I wrote a short story where the ending was this image. It was a science fiction story about a circus performer who works with a show that travels to other planets. With a bit of editing:

From the building I walk down to the sea. I step out onto the water. The clear emerald face meets my foot with a cold tongue. Below swim the creatures of this sea, their clouds the white soles of my feet, and between us my reflection, breaking and reforming with the swells. I walk out far enough to lose sight of land. I am the single vertical on the plane of moving water.
Bending over I see movement in the depths; movement beyond my own liquid face that comes up to meet me. Cautiously I place one hand on the surface and shift weight into that shoulder. The cold wet clasps my fingers. I bend my knees and spring up, all weight coming down through one arm. There, balanced; one armed handstand on the water. A small wave slaps my wrist. Wind blows spray into my face. I taste salt.