I am still a Patriot

flag snaps the air in anger
taught, its striped back stretches
furls
and springs, whipcord

were I still starred
and straight backed
coddled over the cobbled
streets of

were I still spangled
spattered with the
cold darts of winter
starlight

I would walk on the crisp ground
and leave heavy prints in crystal
and leave heavy water molten
and roiled in my heavy tread
and softly, stick swinging in arcs
once circumscribed by
Finn, and Saturn, and all those

you might remember what was said
when the first lines lashed
with this winded page
when the first lines lobbed
and lo'

there might be my shadow
there might be a ripple under my shadow
that twins me and my distortions and
there might be my shadows shadow, which is all light and
lingers on my back in brightness so I cannot see
it and my shadow but it
and my shadow steal glances
of one another over my shoulder
and play footsie beneath my feet

and, when I am distracted, I
think they hold hands behind me and
confuse the lovers of light
with their twined fingers of shimmer and shade

but I am not the only one