Tue, 1 September

Let us stand for the small forced smile, held under fluorescent halos, that we might pass into the register of the school. Let us pause at the doorway, the quick word between old colleagues, loose-tessellated, uncounted. Let us kneel before the envoy's ring, the tray held high, the genial gesture, the new hand offered and taken. Let us give thanks for gold ground, gold ground pressed flat against the practised face. Let us go in peace to the lamp, to the bill, to the last unset tile, and count what candlelight cannot.