Dina Stops at Dan's on Her Farewell Tour

Dear Dan, I am leaving you but before I go I must tell you this, this is what I have always wanted to understand, the ways in which I can leave and not leave, go and not go, stay and not stay, haunt. Dan, what salutation makes you think of brick buildings more, fog and then a small lake we can look over together, some boats at dock and clinking. It is dusk, dawn, dusk again, we have not left each other in these many hours, remember all the hours together. This summer when my childhood home was set on fire, Dan, I wanted you to come with me and see the skeleton, charcoal, lead. I wanted you to understand the womb from which I came. When I look out into the woods and see the vegetable garden that goes un-tilled, the one year I helped you bury potatoes, these fresh out of the ground, I put them there for spring time vegetables, here is my bounty, my bounty. Dan, with my finger up my nose, with something up my nose. Dan, I salute you. The way in which your urine arches like Blake's angels from a woman's head of yellow hair, the way in which it is relief. Dan, all I can do is apologize now, I am sorry for everything ever was and has been. Some days you are closer to me than others. Like God. Some days God is closer to me than others. Like you. What does that say about divinity. What is divine and where do I stand. Dan, we are standing underneath glass at an aquarium, my hand is in yours, do you remember. How the fish seemed like they were floating. The way the sea lamprey looks crazy, slack jawed and wide eyed, lunatic. Dan, this one is for you. And that one. And that one over there. And the one that goes, thank you from the bottom of my heart, sex sex combustion no. Dan, thank you for the glock to the head, three strikes, what sport is that again, you as catcher, my heart as ball.