You can see this.
Watch the mountain.
Watch closely, for some time.
Watch for ten million years.
Stay as long as you like.
The earth heaves up a mountain.
Or the mountain heaves up itself.
Watching will not tell us which.
The mountain crests
from the earth into the sky then
crashes down, or dissolves, melting
back into the earth like a great stone wave,
a wave breaking so slowly. It says,
I am no more solid than rain.
The world urges mountains
in their season
urges apples from branches, urges
babies from their amnion.
They are of a piece.
An apple is a mountain. An apple
from blossom to flesh
fills with juice,
drops, urges back to soil
to make more apples.
No one demands this, not god,
it happens. You might say
solid things are verbs.