Lengthen, Loosen

Past the solstice, the longest day, 
        summer begins to reel in its boundlessness. 
I write a letter to you, because I dream 

        the moon will swallow me whole when I leave 
this life if I don't remember how to let go 
        of the thread that tethers these flower boats 

to the dock. My end is frayed; I've clutched it 
        so tightly though I admit, there have been days 
when I nearly fed everything to my sorrow.  

        When at last I light a votive and set it afloat 
on the water, it is like signing the name by which 
        you've known me all your life. It is what 

one does before leaving the temple 
        after praying at the feet of the gods, after 
dropping a final offering into  the metal box.