The first fish <br />I ever caught <br />would not lie down <br />quiet in the pail <br />but flailed and sucked <br />at the burning <br />amazement of the air <br />and died <br />in the slow pouring off <br />of rainbows. Later <br />I opened his body and separated <br />the flesh from the bones <br />and ate him. Now the sea <br />is in me: I am the fish, the fish <br />glitters in me; we are <br />risen, tangled together, certain to fall <br />back to the sea. Out of pain, <br />and pain, and more pain <br />we feed this feverish plot, we are nourished <br />by the mystery.<br /><br />Mary Oliver<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-fish-2/
