I pledge allegiance to the flag of my own existence,
the absurdity for which it stands, especially February days as dark, inscrutable as the flock of starlings I watched this afternoon suddenly split in two and form
a perfect pair of angel wings that did, I swear, ascend
over the Cowboy Church seven or eight asphalt miles
past Warrenton, Virginia, whose sad marquee spoke
in missing letters, reminding me of careless dentistry
and human suffering everywhere, though it gladdened my heart
somehow to know I didn’t know the secrets of this world.
I pledge allegiance to the numbness that gives birth to spring,
to faith holding fast or unraveling stitch by stitch, to one nation under God, indivisible as the soul, with liberty and certain bafflement for all.