The expectation, fear of finding something indefinable out of place
a trace of vague perfume, distilled from some unnameable poison
follows you as you wander through the maze of your rooms.
The wolf in yellow cravat and used car dealer tweed waistcoat
tacks his claws along your stony path, bids you sit awhile
as he spins his yarn and chomps and slavers on a cigar.
Then leaves you to find your own way home as the clouds
yield their black rain and long hours pass before you regain
the stony path, pick up the discarded thread that leads to your door.