Sky here a cold grey fish. The banked horizon.
mud looking like cupped rock carrying river
everything seeping back down, to below
the capillaries, the dykes, an aversion to vertical rise
the sideway glance of water or magma, molten rock
and boulders still hot in the center. The exterior sky,
infused human things like rain, or clouds, the ability to degrade.
Prior to its shield formations, volcanoes below water-level
are called seamounts, are constantly exploding, are hotspots
actively uprising until the layers of mafic lava reach the surface
and then the process of erosion begins, a detriment of contact
above surface, until the plates shift, and each island slowly drifts
one after the other, a string of necklaces on the ocean, a clenched
fist uncurled. An uprooted tree floating on the water.  Slowly
even volcanoes submit to gravity.

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