This may be part of what I meant to say:
that this small stone, sent to me in the mail
may serve me well for now. The color's not
exactly what I'd meant by amethyst,
or what I had imagined in my words.
I'd thought of meconopsis blue, but this
 
smooth surface is more lavender. That's best-
since Himalayan poppies cannot last
more than a few short weeks. The summer's heat
mixed with the sound of cigales tarnishes
the azure petals. Lavendula thrives
on warmth, and stays, perennial, unlike
 
my thoughts, which slip away until I hold
the half imagined stone against my skin
and maybe I had meant to say: persist
until the night when colors prism out
across this stubble field, until I say
what I had meant to speak across this time.