In the warmth of your car,
you arrive at an empty bar
where the decor commits
every artistic sin.

Where buildings rise high
and carve up the evening sky
untethered from purpose,
yet still guarded, as we begin.

I have no idea if you still drink.
If you do, raise a glass here with me.

I've watched you ache,
and you've watched me hesitate.
We've both brimmed with words while
sitting wordless and reserved.

But let's not compare notes
on who has hurt who the most
on this anniversary
of a greater violence endured.

Ghosts of squatters that we built this with
weave through barricades, rubble and mist.

So arranged at the foot of these graves,
all our petty concerns drift away.
So let this monstrous and clotted spite
be abolished from all hearts tonight.