They’ve done their best.
They’ve passed each test you’ve set.
Wresting form from your disorder,
they arrest attention – cross the border
from an absence to a breath:
close to life, they’re almost wet.
Their black-and-white organization
has developed warm gradations
of dimension: chiaroscuro
shades and grays. Now every one
of them has ways that none of them
had known before. But they
desire something more.
They suffer from one unmet agony,
one tragedy, one overriding dolor.They want some color.