wadethrough black
Of the crow-blue mussel-shells, one keepsadjusting the ash heaps; opening and shutting itself like aninjured fan.
The barnacles which encrust the sideof the wave, cannot hide there for the submerged shafts of thesun,split like spunglass, move themselves with spotlight swiftnessinto the crevices– in and out, illuminatingthe turquoise seaof bodies.
The water drives a wedgeof iron through the iron edge of the cliff; whereupon the stars,pinkrice-grains, ink-bespattered jelly-fish, crabs like greenlilies, and submarine toadstools, slide each on the other.
Allexternalmarks of abuse are present on thisdefiant edifice– all the physical features ofac-cident–lackof cornice, dynamite grooves, burns, andhatchet strokes, these things stand out on it; the chasm-side isdead.
Repeated evidence has proved that it can liveon what can not revive its youth.
The sea grows old in it.
