You were no dove.

“Black” I say,

and you,

with wolfish grins, show me spades.

You were not peace.

“Red” I say

and you,

with eyes of ice, turn over diamonds.

You were not purity.

“Black, Black, Red” I say

and you,

with DaVinci hands, turn over club, club, heart.

You were not innocence.

Nothing I say,

and you,

with insatiable glory, refuse to tell me how you knew.

You were a raven.

You were the trickster with your deck of cards.

You were an omen.

But I see that too late.