36. The Fish

36. The Fish

by Marianne Moore

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