Passing Milltown on the last bus home,

The gravestones flicker-flame,

Flare into life, just for seconds,

As if to say...

Remember how we buried truth

Under martyrs, under blame;

When God was which and who,

How we poured blood for pronouns.

The lights of The Maze play in lines,

Dancing chains around the gaol.

Our dead rhetoric returns,

In sentences, parsed with guns.

It echoes off walls...

Haunting our silences, in these places

Where those we've shut up, put

Under stones, form monuments

In years, in tears, in flesh

Bagged by the hundredweight.