I wondered if he’d write a poem
on a summer spent underground.
Thought to suggest it—how foolish—
then wondered if what I really wanted was Dan,
as I stepped into his boat, to take my arm and ask me something—
at this middle age, probably for a couple coins
then give a promise of safe passage
as he ferried me to the realm of the dead
that I’ve been thinking about for several years
not because of a girlfriend’s cancer
but because my body is no longer young.