You clank this pot, held

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You clank this pot, held
so no one can hear the salt
boiling in chimneys

fastened on the ocean floor
though the color green floats up
from every hole to become

a few degrees colder :you dead
are ravenous, your mouth stays open
as if it can swallow this ooze, lush,

thriving in the water left behind
half sea grass, half starting place
--you eat to prune the Earth

who in turn cools down lets you die
near the surface and the stones
all along in love with snow.