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.