Atop the Pole

I see sharp lines, and frames, and rifts of color.
I see the assent of definition.
I see seven quilted continents.
I see the sins of Greece in competition.


I see razor stars and birds of prey.
I see edges cut and history made.


I see swarms and swarms of uniforms,
I don’t see underneath.
I rarely see the colors run,
I often see them bleed.


And in the folds,
Atop the pole,
I see myself in there, I think,
Swimming in the ink.