Been About

The rat traps emptied, the grain troughs filled. The distance between sheep shed and my own ice-melt dripping on the mat equals the diameter of moonlight squared on his face as he looks up and finds me again. Says he’s sure I’d been swallowed by the elements, says he’d been about to come looking. I step into the warm. Two baas from out back where I’d worked. Two tufts of wool he lifts from my hair. In just such a manner are sleek blue words slyly acquired by a wispy whiter-than-snow page. He’s seen it happen. Seen a tear of mine, then two, well up and slip loose as the little boat of orgasm veers into the vortex.