NIGHT

When Carole Laure stepped onto the black stage

At the Bobino, she got such a hand

That Lewis Furey, at the baby grand

Back in the shadows, had to grin. That image

Of her, singing in a single spotlight,

Hair rippling as she gave it a brief

Toss, just like in Get Out Your Handkerchiefs,

Made us feel the world would be all right.

Later, drinking Armagnac at Le Dôme,

Watching the late-night Easter week parade

Down Montparnasse, I thought I saw, in a jade

& mauve raincoat, Carole Laure–walking home

With Lewis Furey, in a group of friends . . .

All laughing, as if the night would never end.