The Fish I caught a tremendous fish And held him beside the boat Half out of water, with my hook Fast in a corner of his mouth. He didn’t return my stare. He was inside, with his struggle and I, Outside, and he was fish.

     It was more like the tipping
     Of scales than the immaterial
     Light of the fin, which, in a moment,
     Slipped through my fingers, rise and fall
     The shallow bow half filled with orange
     And mackerel map on the surface.

     And I, sheathed in my laboring skin,
     Staring at the glistening scales
     Like rubble, and he lies still.
     I will signal the sea add more to my life.
     My blood still pulsing in him, almost a child
     My wonder was pure within him, I missed it.
     In a hurry my foot would still seem awake.
     Nothing, mackerel sun, like tiny moons
     Looked at, turned golden. 

     I let the fish go - my fish, the fish of the sea.
     I think he knew I sent him the warmth,
     That he came back, strange ocean, enhance, enhance.
     Or perhaps he knew he could never die

• Marianne Moore