The mine has got some stairs in it

Keats walks downstairs — a poem

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Keats walks downstairs

and wonders if today

will be his last descent

He’s been descending ever since

he stupidly set sail

to this cold warmth

a century too early to

have life extended

Who knows what would have

risen up to give him decades more

Oh I know it is no mean feat

to be immortal while

unkissed by one whose kiss

now cloys and leaves a bitter taste

The wind in Rome is magic

so the fellow says

The one who never says hello but sometimes

speaks like some odd oracle

The wind in Rome

So they will name this

house for me some day

I could have been a doctor

and perhaps have taken better care

Oh god that woman

Let me force my eyes to close

Step step I should have gone to Spain

The rhymes I leave will never weigh

the tiniest of measures

next to her sweet kiss

The wind I must not think of it