Rain

A lexicon of words that were not

said in childhood, and all of those

that were, were said beside

an upturned boat, lapped

planking of the creosoted shed,

were said into the wind on

tussocky ground, by farm-rust vehicles.

The buildings I could not complete

without my father’s help, the wind

in which I was at sea. Rain blooming

in August that moved the land

and over land toward the autumn,

sliding through the gates of summer,

feeling for the bone inside the wrist.