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.