National Identity At Last

I had a sentiment once:

I saw a black man in a suit,
jumping from a cliff into a lake,
and there were mountains
in the background, covered
in trees the color of autumn
at dinner time.
The sunset was every color purple,
and he was falling fast
with a giant American flag
in his grip, and a grin
the size of the grand canyon.

Below, his friends,
also wearing suits,
cheered from the deck
of a boat
wavering on the surface
of a sheet of
glassy
black
water,
reflecting the white flash
of handheld fire crackers,
an intense, pulsating glow -
fire-colored fire flies -
from embers
of deeply inhaled
joints;
the collective shimmer of
celebration.

Splash.

Their beer bottles clinked and
their spirits flowed overboard
as they helped him to the
deck, extending a beer
for their sopping friend
and I thought,

this must be the place.