David Eileen

In the roof religion where rain is a trial & the thatch all prays

the same direction, storm wind is a schism. A falling tree
makes heretical objections. Nails, succor.
Beams are prayed to like saints in their pantheon. 

We preach the blueprint & the chalk line, bow ordained weight
across equal signs. We make the hat on your house so tight
it can't tip. Out of respect. 

In the roof religion, we were the first god: asphalt & ammonia
our frankincense, carpenter's pants splattered
white (constellations) & tar-kneed (black holes). 

Our robes cigarette smoke. We fixed the gray sandpaper
in such a way that it could never forget us: true acolytes
of our direction, the shingles. To us, their faith could be 

rendered in fractions. Has already been planned
in blue pencil. Gloves hid the true & many faces
of our hands from them. This was best for all of us.

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David Eileen is a non-binary lesbian poet from Ohio who earned his MFA from Florida Atlantic University. Their poems have been published in The Atlantic, Painted Bride Quarterly, Permafrost and more. They are also an editor for Alien Magazine.