In your dream we are separated by war
and after untold business somehow make our way
to the café where they keep that bright Sancerre.
It has taken half a lifetime. You in a windows eat
writing a letter, me at the window unable to make out
who it's for. You smile and sip your wine: Pouilly Fumé.
I have fifty blacks to hand which are really black
with a bit of this, if you look, and a bit of that.
I am saving the darkest dark for such a day.
David Harsent, Marriage, Faber & Faber, 2002.