Amything May Take the Form of a Cup

when clouds invert. The ocean

is rearranged as slate, flesh,

static. Stone

bugs. Now, there are other names

for how the mountain breaks

open. To turn the mountain inside

out and wear it

against the skin. This is not

a love poem, but there is a town

on the edge of a fossil bed. Often,

we walk into a field

to stand still. I am no longer afraid

of the empty space

where the mountain has fallen

into a wild rose bush.