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.