The Fish

With their fins going, The fish lie dulled in a tank, Pale and very high from the dark, Caught, suspended, and lost with the water. Dressed in silk, their iridescent colors dive and slide. Yet they swim with all certainty, As a tear escapes; the world swims back to serenity. To treasure through capture, pin-stripe allings, Red, silver, a spectrum in a tank of seawater.

• Marianne Moore