I’ll never forget the day
you shared with me
your Keats poem,
as much about nurturing
as the incomparable
genius of Keats.
Oh our brothers,
yours and mine!
How I wish
we had a brother
like John, whose love
would match the love
we have for him,
sacrificing even art
for the elusive
dream of reciprocity,
with but negative
capability to find
the tincture of love
in friendship,
sans mercury,
the pall of loneliness,
or the insufferable
muting of Orpheus.