It is an immensely powerful and bitter poem. It is full of a sense of infringement, violation, and injury; it is also resigned. One of the morosely-colored "crow-blue" mussels "keeps adjusting the ash heaps" on which it lies by opening and shutting itself; it is not a happy animal expression. The shell moves "like an injured fan. The sea grows old in it. The accident is lack. The chasm side is permanently mutilated line the bottom of the chasm
abused by some mysterious unpurposeful purposefulness of nature.