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Opal

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  • Opal

    I wish I had that opal lost under flowers.
    I'd peer into its pareidolic iridescence
    and read my fortune in colours.

    Blue for truth, green for growth, purple for royal cloth,
    pink for love, red for danger, gold for the light of the sun.

    Opals and feathers from peacocks' tails
    carry bad luck, so say some.
    Those eyes that swallow light,
    dumb and blind as the moon,
    shine invisibility on strangers and spies.

    The colours seen in oil slicks
    and the curdling of metals
    glimmer in the lining of the mind,
    stumm as a purse shut tight
    imprisoning secrets
    yearning to be disgorged.
    The latch unsnapped, its shot silk
    disperses light's entities.

    A clot of dew risen from fiery sheen
    seeks the still air
    where it whirls all colours clear
    over land, over sea
    orbiting the flower of fortune's bond.

    More...
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