"The Fish"

Here's a Marianne Moore poem called "The Fish":

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
   lillies, 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-
ccident — 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.

This poem is an example of that very rare thing in English verse (outside haiku): syllabic verse. Each stanza has lines with 1, 3, 9, 6, and 8 syllables respectively.

The rhyme scheme is AABBC with the usual English half-rhymes like an-fan, live-revive and swiftness-crevices. Iron has one syllable, opening has two.

There's gobs of commentary on this poem: if you want it, Google for it.