My Flag

      is a beachtowel
heavy with sand
      whole tribes tangled in it

involuntary sky -
                   heart's refuge
      in the true of dark
mind's refuge in the heart

                  the flag
        must be all things to all
- a mirror aloft, reflection unfurling
that should make everyone happy

in a room with the queen
you'd see the queen
and she'd see you, her subject
- one among the many flags

in the bush would be magpies to fly in and tangle
- catch them like that when they get territorial

on the front of the big boss's car
-  more of chrome
dark tarmac

in the night you'd choose the stars
- bright pinpricks from another sky
in which
the true flag must fly,  be windblown, limp
from the accustomed pole -
a square cut of heaven and no strings attached