The Fish

by Marianne Moore wadethrough black jade.Of the crow-blue mussel-shells, one keepsadjusting ash heaps;opening and shutting itself likeaninjured fan.The barnacles which encrust the sideof the wave, cannot hidethere for the submerged shafts of thesunsplit like spunglass, move themselves with spotlight swiftness,into the crevices -in and out, illuminatingthe turquoise seaof bodies. The water drives a wedgeof ironContinue reading “The Fish”