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Michael Dennison 
When I said your skin was perfect sky
I also meant it was too distant.
Forever you are just beyond the door,
and I hear you gliding toward the next.
Tonight, angry, I searched for matches
And in a drawer found the opal
You brought me years ago from Kowloon.
Outside of its silk pouch it glows
Like milk on fire. In its hard veins
Are all the colors of Burmese sky.
I put the stone back in darkness to shine,
Nest for the egg of a ghost.
The Chinese say opals bring bad luck,
Worn close to the skin they confuse
The mind with delusions. At night
They draw lying dreams from moonlight.
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