Missed you on the day it rained

On the first day,

you lashed poles to poles,

vertical and horizontal,

created your own first floor with wooden planks,

filled in the cracks

in the brickwork.

You picked out the flowers and tendrils

on the lintels,

gold on brown,

and now you are painting the pillars

between the windows,

the rounded plinth

a rich chocolate, the column cream,

topped with the curves

of the fleur de lis.

I am learning the exact length and breadth

of the naked patch at the back of your head,

how it shines in the afternoon sun,

the way stray strands arch over

in the breeze

like a field of ripening corn.

If you would only turn round

you could see into my house.

Missed you on the day it rained.