Stumbling on more photographs

by Dan Hitchens

we wonder how black-and-white

has come out in polychrome,

and why so many are blank

or blurred. We say to ourselves

in the dark empty evenings,

holding each other to

broken promises, watching

the day’s curtain draw itself

early, where in these tableaux

are the unspoken words, the

words which hang for ever. But

all this is so much grey, and

everything fades in the broad

tenacious glow of late May,

the last day in uniform,

and the berets in the air, weightless.