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.

One Reply to “Lengthen, Loosen”

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.