roofers

the geese come & start building
a god on the roof. haven't you ever
gotten together your debris
& thought, "i could worship this?"
being born into salt means always
checking the weather. is the love jukebox 
going to melt into an ocean 
or are we going to stay up all night
talking about deer? the work is brief 
& involves molting. losing a face
to gain an old one. i wonder if 
we are all nesting dolls. trying to find
the popcorn at the center. i used to think
i could make a life out of parables 
but now i am inspecting the house
of stained glass & teeth. the roofers 
are here to make sure the ceiling
no longer leaks. to ensure we have
a barrier between us & heaven. 
tin roof song. a banjo we buy
just to bury. don't worry. i am sure 
when all is said & done there will be
someone operating this machine.
he might have opera glasses
for all i know. he might drink lemonade 
& cross his legs just like i do.
the roofers leave behind remnants 
of their excavation. stray fins.
a broken gutter. we go out together
to collect the pieces. the god is shiny 
& not at all what we expected.
i try to stay positive for you.
i say, "it looks like the father
i always wanted." you say, "i don't know
what it is but it'll keep us 
out of the shoelace waterfall."
have you ever had your door kicked down?
there is little to be done about it.
we go inside & try to be silk worms 
for the rest of the evening.