So

There are possibilities here.
In the slow burn of the setting sun
or how a tern turns
the edge of silence
with broken hosannas.

And promise in this
wisp of blue wood-smoke
and the slow breathing
of light night rain.

A mile away,
a car park bristles
with scattered glass teeth,
"IRA ROOL"
gleams on moonlit concrete,
as a famished wind hunts
high rise blocks.

Reconcilation is the sound
of laughter dissolving,
of souls opening, drawing breath.