---

Marianne Moore - The Fish
Work rating: Low

wade
through black jade
	Of the crow-blue mussel-shells, one keeps
	adjusting the ash heaps;
	 opening and shutting itself like 
an
injured fan.
	The barnacles which encrust the side
	of the wave, cannot hide
	 there for the submerged shafts of the
sun,
split like spun
	glass, move themselves with spotlight swiftness
	into the crevices–
	 in and out, illuminating
the 
turquoise sea
	of bodies. The water drives a wedge
	of iron through the iron edge
	 of the cliff; whereupon the stars,
pink
rice-grains, ink-
	bespattered jelly-fish, crabs like green
	lilies, and submarine
	 toadstools, slide each on the other.
All
external
	marks of abuse are present on this
	defiant edifice–
	 all the physical features of
ac-
cident–lack
	of cornice, dynamite grooves, burns, and
	hatchet strokes, these things stand 
	 out on it; the chasm-side is
dead.
Repeated 
	evidence has proved that it can live
	on what can not revive
	 its youth. The sea grows old in it.
Source
The script ran 0.001 seconds.