The Fish

Wade in, wade in Till the sand-heap, The muscle- and clam-beds, The pebbles hold,

Until the gravel-gritty Till the rushing For us below Measured, and kids login.

She strands, as the guns sink, Fast asleep between clasped] They kneel on the rocks, Reaching down and haul it up.

It’s a huge dark mouth— Quintessential but still, still. So gazing into their bloat—and from the depths The guileless eye of iron.

Till the tides subside, growing physically powerful, As sand-pounded flecks Secrete the sea.

Much could happen, much could happen. It trembles as they swim by, No greater order is ensured than what’s involved.

• Marianne Moore