" ... the blue bead necklace, of sapphire
or lapis, or of other words she knows
which might mean blueness: amethyst, azure,
chalcedony can hardly say how it glows.
She stole it. She tells herself that she found it.
Ice-beads flare and blossom on her tongue,
turn into flowers, populate the spaces
around and below her. The attic has become
her bluebell wood. Among their sappy grasses
the light-fringed gas-flames of bluebells hum.
They lift her body like a cloud of petals."

#Poetry #Flowers