Ship to Shore A wire down, hissing in the water between two hollow tin towers bolted down to different stones on opposite shores. Fish that swam too near now bob on the surface like purses— their eyes the identical yellow of anti-freeze. Can you see yourself in the opaque eye? Get closer—right up to it. Now tell that poor dead fish something— something helpful. The last thing you told me was that I was getting fat. True, I was oh so much fatter then. Jennifer L. Knox before or more