Luck of the draw,
Lucked out from flaws,
Lucky is the breaking mirror.

How unfortunate for the Clover
Whose wind had brought her nearer

To the black cat,
The camp of bats,
The magpie who points destination
To a rainbow through a latter
While chirping present ticks in fascination.

How unfortunate for the Clover
Whose vision couldn’t be clearer.

She saw the birds fly west, then east;
She saw the trail the ****** left
On its rampant quest to feast
On flesh, on glass, on salt, on past
Memories of serendipity
And the seven years of misery
The mirror lost, all at the cost
Of pondering his love.

Its ink would run, and pages dry,
Its eyes would trace a butterfly
Of clouds of clay and molded slates
And the most impressive of junior art.
But it all mattered not,
For despite where was the start-

The broken reflection
Only showed a tattered angel.. with four wings-
How lucky to find a Clover here-
To have been seen by a Clover here-
To have been seen.