Seeking affinity with Keats

At night when I smell some breath of fear
stalking lobbed-legged as my mounting years,
I seek John Keats to spell again his fears
and then, on even earth, I respect my old age.
Hungered, I breathe the air that was his breath
and I chew the moon sea stars that are his food.
With diet and wan smile, we break a brittle cage.
We keep an open door, but not to ease in death
but smiling welcome such life as passes there.
And once filled with fear, we smile our peace.
Expectations grow, not less, but always more.
Yes, surely death will someday stop to smile.