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.

Nance van Winckel, “Been About”