He says, "Keats for my Keats. Look inside."
I gently open the cover. Inside, written in pencil,is an old inscription.
1903, To my love.
-S
Underneath is more pencil, written in Brooklyn's neat print.
Even Keats speaks of chaos.
There is nothing stable in the world; uproar's your only music.
All my love,
B
— Jillian Dodd