Seeking affinity with Keats

At night when I smell some breath of fear
stalking lobbed-legged my mounting years,
I seek John Keats to spell again his fears
and then, on even earth, I respect old age.
Hungered, I breathe the air that was his breath
and chew the moon sea stars that were 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 to welcome such life as passes there.
And once filled with fear, we smile our peace.
Expectations grow, not much, but always more.
For surely death will someday stop to smile.