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.