On a Thin Gold Chain   Opals have storms in them, the legend goes: They brim with water held in place by force To stir the dawn, to liquefy the rose, To make the sky flow. They are cursed, of course: Great beauty often is. But they are blessed As well, so long as she herself gives light Who wears them. Shoulders bare, you were the guest At the garden table on a summer night Whose face lent splendour to the candle flame While that slight trinket echoing your eyes Swam in its colours. What a long, long game We’ve…