The page of Byron was sitting beside an old pen, which was probably the right amount of drama for the room.

Byron is easy to admire for the wrong reasons. The speed, the pose, the beautiful wound, the refusal to sit still.

What interests me more is the cost. A restless person can make restlessness look noble, but the bill still comes due somewhere.

The poems keep their charge. They also leave a warning in the margins: not every bright fire warms the house.