Call the winter

In the paddock
Heel deep in wood chips
Down the season
During the rain

I have to confess
That if I had not acted
as I thought best
we might not have seen
our hampered rest

In the high loft
Wrapped in blankets
such strange music
I get taken
And beat on wings
to your fettered breasts

Darkened daylight
Round and looming
Could not contain me
as would your shadowed skin

Rain and hay
Open barn doors
Call the winter
And let contentment in.