Вот такое чудо увиделось вчера вечером на Panton St., а сегодня внезапно этот образ срезонировал с новым стихотворением Саймона Армитаджа, Поэта-Лауреата, на двухсотую годовщину смерти Китса:

I speak as someone whose skin was thinner

than gold leaf, with a soul so porous the world

blew through him in a light breeze, whose coughing

landed his heart in his palm many times.

And as someone who sailed the panicky seas

of his own blood. In Naples Harbour

the summer served its ten day quarantine

below deck, till the air wasn’t fit to drink.

Now bats roost in the plush colonnades

of human veins, and naked arms are offered up

to the dewy-eyed syringe; so my tired hand

must hover over the séance again to write

no life without death, no death without life,

just semaphore flags and fragile bottles bobbing

from coast to coast freighted with ink and breath.