Elegy

"I do not know how elastic my spirit is."

Mr. Keats, I'm afraid you would be ashamed of this shrewdly blasphemous hipster land we call the modern day.

"There is a tenderness to the heart's affection you know nothing about."

Dear John, there is a tenderness it seems only your heart has captured; only your heart and one other. The only pair on earth that has captured the tenderness you speak of. For is not each person, each pair of people intensely unique? And yet no one is completely unique. And that is what allows us to love, but love uniquely for no love between any two people can be recreated by a different set of beings.

"You are the dew on the morning grass and the burning wheel of the sun." -Billy Collins

There is much that you are, and that you are not, Mr. Keats. You are half of a whole, a puzzle piece, and Litany. But in this case, you are not the bread knife, but you are the plum orchard. You are eaten rosebuds and coughing blood. You are the keystone to someone's life, and when you are removed, the arch of her world disintegrates.

Mr. John Keats, you are the bright star, you are the elegy.