Eek, Eyck

No green swell this evening
will detach me from my hat.

No hand held out gingerly
will bend my frozen elbow.

Next door, the goldfinch
on the box turns and chirps.

Hounds outside hunt fox
or men who play God.

My face is not as pale
as yours and yet so pale.

Tell me, is your green
dress of cotton or of wool?

If wool you must beware
of wolves mistaking you.

The little dog on the floor
looks like furry slippers.

Fruit on the window sill
looks ripe enough to eat.

Yet your rosary hangs from
a rusty nail like a noose.

No swell is mine to claim.
My name will not be signed.

Withdraw your pallid hand.
The hounds are at the door.

Salvatore Difalco is a Sicilian Canadian poet and short story writer currently living in Toronto, Canada. His poems and stories have appeared in many journals.