Amything May Take the Form of a Cup
POEM
By Natalie Rice
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.