Today at sunset of the longest day
we set these driftwood boats afloat downstream,
twigs lashed with twine, toy rafts with painted masts
candles guttering at their bows,
decks strewn with flowers.
When the waters rose to engulf the world
set adrift with a stone knife in a basket
pitched and lidded a girl and boy survived
alone of all, the story goes,
to start again
and so tonight amid our boats we launch
a basket also—it holds two grass dolls:
the whole flotilla garlanded and decked
with ferns and feathers drifts out into
open water
till the current catches them and they swing
downriver, candles fluttering in the dusk.
A few will reach the river mouth by morning
gathered into the oceanic
element and dissolved.